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New  York 

Keppler-    £^     S  c  hw».rzm».nn. 
1893 


Copyright,  1893,  by  KBPHLER  &  SCHWAKZMANN. 


TO    PUCK'S   READERS. 


CONTENTS. 

Page. 

The  Senator i 

H.   C.  Ititiinrr. 

A  Prairie  Blossom 13 

Madeline  .V.   Bridges. 

The  Jigs  of  Abner  Peabody 27 

C.  S.  Montgomery. 

The  Career  of  a  Society  Actress 39 

J.  L.   Ford. 

The  Story  of  Shiftless  Smith 49 

C.   H.   Augur. 

A  Fin  de  Siecle  Genie;  or,  Arabian  Nights  Up  to  Date    61 
II'.  ,/.   Henderson. 

The  Mosquitoville  Club 73 

R.  K.  Mutikittrick. 

The  Story  of  William 83 

H.   L.   Wilson. 

His  Lucky  Night 91 

Harry  Romaine. 

Foiled  Again ;   or,   The  Banker's  Vengeance 103 

Tudor  Jeiiks. 

Van  Gibber  and  the   Street-car in 

Robert  />".  I'edttic. 

Suing  for  Damages 119 

G.  H.  Jessop. 

Why  the  Reverend  Edward  Atkins  Changed  His  Parish  127 
\Vardon  Allan   Curtis. 

Willy  and  The  Missionary 145 

H.  G.  Paine. 

A  Slave  to  Fancy 155 

l-'Lii't'l  S.   Mines. 

George  Byers 165 

WMiston   Fish 


THE     SENATOR. 


"  Yotir  health,    sir!" 


THE     SENATOR. 


R.   T.   Gilmartin    Hone   stood  at  the 
entrance  to  the  Senate  Press  Gal- 
lery, in  the  Capitol  at  Washing- 
ton.    He  held  a  telegram  in  one 
hand;  and  he  scowled  at  vacan- 
cy  with    an    expression    of   per- 
plexity and  annoyance.      The  telegram  read  thus : 

S/.  Jo.,  Feb.  4,  1892. 
7o    T.    Gilmartin   Hone, 

Washington,  D.  C. 

Send  four  columns  R.  R.  Subsidy  Case  for 
Sunday.  Old  board  of  directors  indicted  to-day. 
Gc't  best  /t'giil  opinion.  Rush .' 

Rubicon. 

Mr.  Hone  read  it  again,  and  the  scowl  on 
his  brow  deepened. 

••What  's  the  matter,  Gil?"  asked  a  friend, 
coming  out  of  the  comfortable  writing-room,  with 
his  overcoat  on,  and  an  exasperating  day's-work- 
•  done  expression  in  his  very  walk. 

Mr.  Hone  simply  held  up  the  telegram. 

••Well,  that  's  all  right,  is  n't  it?"  said  the 
friend. 


Mr.  Hone,  still  deep  in  perplexed  thought, 
pointed  silently  to  the  words  "best  legal  opinion." 

"  Well,"  said  the  friend,  "  what  's   the  matter 
with  that?    There  's  only 
one    person    to    go    to. 
You  '11  have  to  buzz 
old  man  Creep.    He 
knows     more    about 
it  than   any  man  in 
Washington.       Been 
carrying      it     round 
under    his     hat     for 
ten  years.    They  call 
him    the    Father   of 
the  Case,  in  the  Su- 
preme    Court.      Go 
and    interview    him." 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Hone, 

meditatively,   "that 's  all  very  well.      But   I   ain't 
interviewing  Senator  Creep  very  much  nowadays." 

"Why  not?"  inquired  his  friend,  in  wonder- 
ment. Then  a  thought  seemed  to  strike  him. 
"Oh,  yes,"  he  said;  "it  was  you  who  wrote  up 
his  four-o'clock  drunks,  last  year,  was  n't  it?  What 
the  devil  did  you  do  that  for,  anyhow?  That  was 
a  queer  sort  of  break  for  you  to  make." 

"  Oh,  it  was  the  paper  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Hone. 
"Our  people  would  sell  their  eye-teeth  for  a  sen- 
sation, you  know.  /  was  n't  anxious  for  the  job, 
but  they  would  have  it." 

"  H'm !  And  how  many  stories  did  you  write 
about  the  old  man?" 

"  Eight,"  said  Mr.  Hone,  dismally. 

"Well,  this  is  a  queer  biz  of  ours,"  said  his 
friend.  "But  I  would  n't  let  that  stand  in  my 


•^    IJarns  from  Puck,   ^ 

way.  When  a  man  gets  to  be  of  Creep's  age  and 
Greep's  pull,  it  's  powerful  little  he  cares  what  the 
newspapers  say  about  him.  Ten  to  one  he  's  for- 
gotten where  he  saw  them,  if  he  saw  them  at  all. 
Anyhow,  you  can't  help  yourself.  Old  Greep 
knows  the  whole  Subsidy  Case  business,  and  no- 
body else.  If  you  hurry  up,  you  '11  catch  him 
leaving  his  committee -room  —  they've  just  ad- 
journed." 

They  walked  slowly  forward,  Mr.  Hone  pre- 
serving a  gloomy  silence.  As  they  got  out  of  the 
elevator,  they  saw  the  tall  figure  of  the  Senator 
stalking  ahead  of  them,  the  tails  of  his  black 
broadcloth  frock  coat  flapping  as  he  went.  He 


stared  straight  before  him  as  he  walked,  caressing 
his  long,  white  beard. 

"  Now  is  your  time,  Gil,"  said  his  friend  ; 
"catch  him!  I  rather  think  you  '11  find  him  in  a 
good  humor.  He  's  been  working  off  enough  pure 
cussedness  for  ten  men  in  the  Senate  all  day.  I 
guess  he  's  feeling  good." 

And,  truly,  something  that  looked  like  a  smile 


-V   fjanlts;    V 

softened  the  hard,  straight  line  of  Senator  Greep's 
mouth.  He  was  thinking,  perhaps,  of  the  artistic 
manner  in  which  he  had  broken  up  a  new  Senator 
from  a  Reform  State  in  his  maiden  speech. 

"Well,  so  long!"  said  his  friend,  walking  on; 
and  Mr.  Hone  reluctantly  approached  the  great 
Senator.  Mr.  Hone  was  probably  the  only  man 
in  Washington  who  was  heartily  glad  that  the  cor- 
ridors of  the  Capitol  are  dark  to  the  point  of  dis- 
comfort. 

"Good  afternoon,  Senator,"  he  began,  feeling 
an  unwonted  heat  rising  in  his  cheeks.  "  I  sup- 
pose you  Ve  heard  that  the  St.  Jo.  and  Painted 
Falls  Board  of  Directors  were  indicted  to-day. 
Could  you  spare  me  the  time  to  give  me  a  little 
talk  about  that  point  that  Judge  Bagley  brought 
up?  Our  people  are  taking  special  interest  in  the 
case,  you  know,  and  I  'd  be  very  much  obliged  if 
you  'd  give  me  as  much  as  you  can." 

The  Senator  had  laid  his  lean,  muscular  hand 
on  Mr.  Hone's  shoulder. 

"  Ah,  yes  ;  "  he  said,  in  his  abstracted  way ; 
"the  St.  Jo.  and  Painted  Falls?  Yes,  yes.  Very 
interesting  case  —  very  interesting,  indeed.  Yes, 
I  shall  be  very  glad  to  have  a  talk  with  you  about 
that  case.  Come  right  into  my  room,  young  man  ; 
come  right  into  my  room.  You  are  quite  right. 
It 's  a  case  that  ought  to  be  properly  presented  to 
the  public." 

And  with  dignified  old-time  courtesy,  but  with 
his  blue-gray  eyes  staring  absent-mindedly  before 
him,  the  Senator  ushered  the  newspaper  man  into 
the  deserted  committee-room. 

"Sit  down,"  he  said,  cordially;  "sit  down, 
sir.  I  am  very  glad  to  have  the  opportunity  of 

4 


clearing  the  public  mind  in  regard  to  that  point 
that  Judge  Bagley  raised.  Very  able  man,  Judge 
Bagley  —  very  able,  indeed  ;  but  decidedly  young 
—  yes,  decidedly  young.  Now,  as  to  this  case, 
the  main  point  at  issue  is  whether  the  Act  of  1868 
supplemented  or  superseded  the  Act  of  1849. 
Now  it  has  been  held — " 

And  for  ten  minutes,  during  which  time  the 
warm  feeling  gradually  subsided  in  Hone's  cheeks, 
the  old  Senator  talked  on,  pouring  out  of  the 
boundless  reservoir  of  his  legal  knowledge  a  steady 
stream  of  minute  technicalities.  Then,  suddenly, 
with  a  sharp  conversational  bump,  like  a  train 
when  the  air-brakes  are  shut  off  short,  he  inter- 
rupted himself  to  say : 

"  By  the  way,  sir,  by  the  way  —  of  course,  I 
recognize  your  face  as  one  of  the  gentlemen  of 
the  Press.  But  to  what  paper  are  you  attached?" 

"To  the  St.  Jo.  Rubicon"  said  Hone,  softly, 
feeling  trouble  in  his  cheek-bones  again. 


"Ah,  yes,"  said  Senator  Greep,  pleasantly; 
"the  St.  Jo.  Rubicon.  A  very  able  paper!  A  very 
able  paper,  indeed !  You  ought  to  be  making  a 
very  great  success  of  that  paper;  and  I  have  no 
doubt  you  are.  Very  happy,  indeed,  to  tell  the 
St.  Jo.  Rubicon  anything  I  know  about  this  case. 
And,  as  I  was  saying,  if  we  regard  the  law  of 
1849  as  mandatory  in  its  provisions,  why — ," 
and  he  plunged  once  more  into  the  great  Subsidy 
Case,  while  Mr.  Hone  nursed  his  startled  nerves. 
He  found  it  rather  a  difficult  job.  It  was  sev- 
eral minutes  before  he  got  the  hang  of  the  case 
again.  Then,  suddenly,  just  as  he 
was  getting  his  mind  clear  as  to  the 
Act  of  1849,  the  air-brakes  went 
down  again  with  a  jounce  worse 
than  before. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Senator, 
"  you  may  say  to  your  paper  — 
and  a  very  fine  paper  it  is,  Mr. 
—  ;  by  the  way,  I  believe  you 
did  n't  mention  your  name?" 

"  Mr.  Hone,"  said  the  news- 
paper man,  in  a  voice  suitable 
for  the  chamber  of  death. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the  Senator,  "  I 
did  n't  quite  catch  the  name." 

Mr.  Hone  repeated  it,  a  shade  less  feebly. 
He  was  glad  it  was  a  short  name. 

"Hone?  Ah,  yes,  Mr.  Hone.  Well.  Mr. 
Hone,  I  hope,  whenever  I  can  be  of  any  service 
to  the  St.  Jo.  Rubicon  you  will  have  no  hesitation 
in  calling  on  me.  An  admirable  paper,  sir.  A 
great  medium  for  spreading  popular  knowledge. 
I  am  a  very  busy  man,  Mr.  Hone,  and  I  read  few 

6 


^    I)arns  from  puck,   V 

papers,  but  I  always  read  the  St.  Jo.  Rubicon. 
Now,  as  to  that  case — " 

The  train  was  off  again;  but  poor  Mr.  Gil- 
martin  Hone  was  too  dazed  to  know  whether  he 
was  in  it  or  not.  He  was  conscious  of  only  one 
thing  —  that  the  Senator  had  him,  and  had  him 
cornered.  He  was  hot  all  over  now,  but  more 
particularly  about  the  temples.  He  came  to  him- 
self when  the  train  stopped  again.  The  Senator 
had  laid  a  firm  hand  upon  his  knee. 

"I  must  tell 'you  once  more,  Mr.  Hone,"  he 
said,  "  how  much  I  admire  the  work  your  paper  is 
doing.  It  is  an  able  paper  throughout,  and  its 
Washington  department  is  particularly  well  man- 
aged. I  must  say — what  was  it  that  clock  struck  ? 
Four  o'clock  ?  Yes  ?  Thank  you.  My  sight 
is  not  so  good  as  it  was.  Four  o'clock,  is  it  ? 
Well,  Mr.  Hone,  I  am  in  the  habit,  at  this  hour, 
of  taking  a  glass  of  whiskey.  Do  you  ever  drink 
it,  Mr.  Hone  ?  Occasionally  ?  Yes !  It  is  my 
opinion  that  whiskey,  used  in  extreme  moderation, 
is  a  very  valuable  stimulant.  Of  course  its  abuse 
is  in  the  highest  degree  improper,  and  I  may 
say  dangerous.  The  abuse  of  whiskey,  Mr.  Hone, 
has  ruined  many  a  fine  career.  But,  in  modera- 
tion, I  find  it  beneficial ;  and  I  have  some  here 
that  is  said  to  be  very  good.  I  should  like,  Mr. 
Hone,  I  should  very  much  like  to  have  your  opin- 
ion of  it."  And  without  taking  his  nervous  grasp 
from  Hone's  knee  the  Senator  reached  to  a  little 
cupboard  —  the  thought  passed  through  Hone's 
mind  that  he  had  arms  like  an  orang-outang  — 
and  extracted  a  demijohn  and  two  small  glasses. 
"There,"  he  went  on,  "give  me  your  opinion  of  it. 
Your  health,  sir!  Do  you  find  it  to  your  liking? 

7 


Will  you  have  another  glass,  Mr.  Hone  ?  I  am 
sure  an  occasional  glass  of  good  whiskey  will  hurt 
no  one.  Well,  we  were  discussing  the  Act  of 
1868." 

The  whiskey  was  probably  the  best  Hone  had 
ever  tasted  in  his  life;  but  it  burned  all  the  way 
down  his  throat,  and  it  lay  inside  of  him  and 
burned.  He  knew  he  was  red  all  over,  but  he  felt 
as  if  the  pit  of  his  stomach  must  be  the  reddest 
place  in  his  whole  system.  The  clock  ticked  away 
ten  hideously  long  minutes;  and  then  he  felt  the 
Senatorial  grasp  tighten  on  his  knee — a  signal  for 
the  air-brakes. 

"I  must  interrupt  these  remarks,  Mr.  Hone," 
said  the  Senator,  in  sweet  but  impressive  tone>. 
"to  tell  you  how  much  I  really  think  of  your  work 
on  the  St.  Jo.  Rubicon.  It  is  very  delightful  work 
indeed.  As  I  told  you,  I  am  a  busy  man ;  but 
I  take  so  much  interest  in  your  work  that  I  have 
had  all  of  it  cut  out  and  preserved  —  all  that  re- 
lates to  me.  I  have  it  right  here,  Mr.  Hone." 

And  with  one  hand  still  grasping  the  young 
man's  knee  Senator  Greep  shot  out  the  other  orang- 
outang arm,  turned  a  key  in  the  drawer  of  the  big 
table  and  drew  forth  eight  long  newspaper  clip- 
pings. 

"I  have  them  all  here,  Mr.  Hone,  and,  in 
case  you  have  forgotten  them,  Mr.  Hone,  /  id  11 
READ  them  to  you.'" 

But  Mr.  T.  Gilmartin  Hone  gave  one  wild 
desperate  wrench  for  liberty,  and  flung  himself 
out  of  the  room.  As  he  passed  through  the  door- 
way, he  cast  one  horror-stricken  glance  over  his 
shoulder,  and  saw  Senator  Greep  lying  back  in  his 
chair,  his  tall  frame  shaking  with  one  great,  huge, 
8 


"V"    ^arns  from  Puck,   "V 

resounding  laugh  of  perfect  and  glorious  satisfac- 
tion. 

This,  really,  is  not  my  story.     It  's  the  Sena- 
tor's.     It  is  true. 

H.    C.   Bunner. 


A     PRAIRIE     BLOSSOM. 


f'S/U'  reappeared  with  a  glass  of  milk. 


A    PRAIRIE   BLOSSOM. 


VN  my  search  over  the  boundless  West 
for  a  tract  of  arable  land  upon  which 
my  friend,  Ayer  Cassell,  could  raise 
unlimited  quantities  of  wheat,  I  had 
stumbled  upon  the  little  town  of  Stryk- 
upp,  near  Sioux  Falls,  South  Dakota.  Its 
one  street  lay  between  two  short,  straggling  rows 
of  stores,  saloons  and  blacksmith  shops,  and  at 
either  end  widened  out  into  a  limitless  expanse  of 
prairie,  dotted  plentifully  with  good,  comfortable- 
looking  ranch  houses  and  barns.  I  decided  to 
recommend  the  place  the  first  day  I  saw  it ;  but 
I  had  lingered  along,  enjoying  the  pure  air  and 
the  broad  freedom  of  local  customs,  in  order  to 
give  the  impression  of  a  deliberate  and  not  a 
rash  choice. 

So,  on  that  morning,  I  strolled,  as  usual, 
over  to  the  store,  where,  in  the  three  days,  I  had 
formed  a  deep  intimacy  with  Bob,  the  clerk.  In 
the  West,  friendship  is  like  the  growth  of  the 
prairie  flowers  —  sudden  and  vivid.  In  front  of 
the  door  I  noticed  an  amiable-looking  broncho, 
which  some  one  had  taken  the  apparently  un- 
necessary precaution  to  tie  to  a  post.  When  I 
entered  the  store,  a  young  lady  was  conversing 
13 


V   $anlts;    V 

with  Bob.  She  wore  a  dark  blue  dress,  the  waist 
fitting  her  trim  figure  neatly,  and  the  skirt  short 
enough  to  show  small  feet  and  a  pair  of  ankles 
merging  into  some  bewildering  curves.  A  coquet- 
tish cap  covered  her  fine,  wavy,  black  hair,  under 
which  her  face  showed  a  lovely 
fairness,  like  that  of  a  pale, 
new-opened  flower.  She 
had  the  sweet  delicacy 
of  extreme  youth,  and 
the  promise  of  still  more 
beautiful  womanhood. 
She  had  dark  eyes,  small, 
white  teeth,  and  lips  like 
scarlet  thread.  With  an 
Eastern  man's  quick  tact,  I 
arranged  a  look  of  fascinating 
abstraction  in  the  depths  of  a  pair  of  eyes  which, 
although  they  are  mine  —  but  no  matter.  And  it 
did  not  matter  to  her.  She  looked  through  me  for 
a  second,  with  that  far-reaching  look  we  learn  to 
know  in  the  eyes  of  those  people  whose  vision  is 
adjusted  to  magnificent  distances,  and  resumed 
her  conversation  with  Bob;  but  her  oblivion  to 
me  was  so  charming  in  its  childish  simplicity  that 
I  was  more  distracted  than  ever.  Determined  to 
make  an  impression,  I  addressed  Bob  as  "  Robert," 
in  a  superior,  deep-chested  tone,  and  asked  per- 
mission to  write  a  letter  on  the  desk. 

His  reply  of  "Why,  cert,  old  man!"  had  a 
somewhat  too  familiar  fluency.  I  wrote  my  note 
— to  nobody  —  with  a  thoughtful  brow,  occasion- 
ally passing  my  hand  through  my  hair,  in  deep 
reflection,  and  presenting  the  utterly  unconscious 
air  of  a  man  who  feels  he  is  being  observed, 
14 


V    i)arns 

The  fair  unknown  continued  her  conversa- 
tion with  Bob.  Her  voice  was  soft  and  pleasant 
and  her  use  of  English  much  choicer  than  the 
current  vernacular.  Still,  her  intonation  was  un- 
mistakably Western. 

During  those  moments  I  determined,  with 
the  readiness  of  twenty-four,  to  remain  at  Stryk- 
upp  up  to  Cassell's  limit  of  time,  though  for  a 
purpose  of  which  that  unsuspecting  capitalist  was 
in  complete  ignorance. 

When  she  had  finished  her  business  with  Bob, 
she  went  out,  mounted  the  broncho,  and  started 
off  toward  the  broad  expanse  of  prairie. 

Keeping  the  well-behaved  broncho  in  view, 
I  followed  him  and  his  attractive  burden  out  from 
the  beaten  road  into  a  prairie  path,  which  length- 
ened into  miles. 

The  air  was  cool  and  bracing,  and  I  enjoyed 
the  expedition  in  which  my  sweet,  unconscious 
guide  led  the  way,  —  to  what  ?  An  adventure  of 
some  sort,  I  felt  assured. 

Our  destination  appeared  to  be  a  large,  sub- 
stantial farm-house,  situated  near  an  extensive 
sheep  corral.  When  I  satisfied  myself  of  this,  I 
lay  down  flat  in  the  grass,  fearing  that  the  young 
lady,  in  turning  into  her  gate,  might  turn  her  eyes 
in  my  direction ;  and  I  lay  there,  to  rest  and  to 
consider  what  my  next  move  would  be.  I  con- 
strained myself  to  this  retirement  for  full  half  an 
hour,  never  losing  sight  of  the  gate  through  which 
my  fellow  traveler  had  vanished.  I  arose  at  last, 
and  moved  briskly  toward  the  house. 

Two  or  three  sheep  dogs  came  down  the 
path  to  meet  me,  with  their  noses  suspiciously 
pointed;  but,  as  I  entered  boldly,  whistling  and 


talking  to  them,  they  contented  themselves  with 
sniffing  audibly  at  my  heels  as  I  walked  toward 
the  door.  It  stood  open,  and  she  stood  just  with- 
in it.  This  time,  when  her  eyes  met  mine,  they 
did  not  pass  beyond  me,  and  she  blushed  cleli- 
ciously  all  over  the  delicate  pallor  of  her  face  and 
neck.  I  could  see  that,  whatever  might  be  my 
pretext,  she  understood  cjuite  well  the  meaning  of 
my  visit,  and  her  look  seemed  to  say:  "Ho\v 
could  you  ?  This  is  very  rash." 

"  Pardon  me,"  I  began  timidly ;  ••  I  am  a 
stranger,  an  Eastern  man  —  allow  me,"  I  handed 
my  card,  "and  as  I  am  traveling  in  this  region  to 
gain  information — " 

I  did  not  find  it  necessary  to  finish  my  sen-, 
tence,  as  a  sweet  voice  interrupted : 

•'  Are  you,  indeed  ?  That  's  very  nice ;  and, 
of  course,  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  —  but,  please 
be  seated."  (We  were  in  the  cosy  parlor  by  this 
time.)  "Mr.  —  er — Daudler" — reading  from  my 
card.  "My  name  is  Currie,  Luella  Currie.  You 
are  staying  at  Strykupp?" 

"  For  a  few  days,"  I  rejoined ;  "  I  think  I  had 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  in  the  village  this 
morning." 


V    Darns  fa™  Puck,    V 

"Yes?  I  ride  in  once  or  twice  a  week.  But 
make  yourself  at  home,  and  let  me  bring  you  a 
glass  of  milk." 

This  charming  Western  hospitality !  Could 
anything  be  more  gracious  ? 

She  disappeared,  and  reappeared  almost  im- 
mediately with  a  glass  of  milk,  which  I  quaffed 
thankfully.  She  seated  herself  near  me,  and 
throwing  truth  to  the  winds,  I  began  to  talk.  My 
interest  in  Western  life  and  habits  seemed  to 
bring  us  at  once  into  sympathy ;  but  I  was  wary, 
and,  after  making  a  few  pretended  notes  in  impos- 
sible shorthand,  I  thanked  her,  and  begged  the 
privilege  of  seeing  her  brother  or  father,  in  refer- 
ence to  cattle  raising  and  subjects  of  like  nature. 
She  said,  brightly:  "Oh,  I  have  no  brothers,  and 
father  lives  in  Chicago !  This  is  my  place." 

"You  run  it  alone?"   I  asked,  in  surprise. 

"  Not  alone.  My  cousin  and  his  wife  are 
with  me.  He  attends  to  things;  but  I  can  tell 
you  all  he  can  tell ;  I  shouhl  hope  so ! "  A  pretty 
toss  of  her  head. 

"And — your  mother  is  dead?" 

"  No  — "  with  a  suddenly  grave  look. 
"Mother  is  —  married  again.  She  is  living  in 
Toledo,  and  Father  is  married  again,  too.  They 
were  divorced  a  year  ago.  They  both  seem  — 
very  happy,  now." 

A  sigh  crossed  her  lips.  I  was  silent,  for  in 
that  sigh  I  heard  a  history.  I  understood,  now, 
the  meaning  of  her  lonely  life.  And,  because  of 
her  loneliness  and  her  trusting  innocence,  I  felt 
all  the  more  bound  to  protect  her.  It  seemed 
difficult  to  know  what  to  say.  I  could  not  con- 
sistently condole  with  her  on  the  loss  of  her 
n 


parents,  nor  could  I  offer  any  form  of  congratula- 
tions. She  appeared  to  perceive  my  embarrass- 
ment, and  continued  pleasantly: 

"  I  shall  be  very  glad,  however,  to  give  you 
any  information  you  may  need." 

Her  utter  unconsciousness  of  the  strange  in- 
formality of  our  interview  gave  me  courage,  and 
I  plunged  into  a  series  of  business-like  questions, 
keeping  my  note-book  prominently  in  use.  Jn 
short,  I  spent  a  most  delightful  afternoon  —  the 
first  of  a  series  of  daily  visits.  I  was  introduced 
to  her  cousin  and  his  wife — blunt,  hearty  people 
—  who  added  their  hospitality  to  hers,  and  made 
me  feel  trebly  welcome. 

The  remainder  of  the  week  passed  on  wings. 
I  was  due  in  New  York  on  the  2oth  of  October, 
and  the  lyth  found  me  deliberating  between  tak- 
ing the  train  home  and  telegraphing  to  Cassell  for 
an  extension  of  time. 

At  length,  I  resolved  that  Fate  should  decide 
this  point  for  me,  and  I  started  out  to  the  pleas- 
ant house  on  the  prairie  to  pay  my  farewell  visit, 
or  a  visit  that  would  make  farewell  impossible. 

I  shall  never  forget  that  delightful  afternoon, 
which  lengthened  through  a  glorious  sunset  into 
a  cloudless,  moonlight  night.  I  had  walked  with 
Luella  round  the  greater  part  of  her  possessions, 
and  was  impressed  anew  by  their  magnitude;  and, 
after  supper,  we  strolled  to  and  fro  on  the  prairie 
path,  and  talked  confidingly.  Rather,  she  seemed 
to  have  little  to  confide.  Her  young  life  was  yet 
in  bud.  She  spoke  far  more  of  the  future  than  of 
the  past.  The  thought  of  leaving  her  in  that 
prairie  solitude,  and  seeing  her  no  more,  began  to 
assume  the  proportions  of  a  cruel  tragedy,  as  I 


^    l)arns  from  Puck.   ^ 

glanced  sidewise  at  her  sweet,  appealing  face,  and 
felt  the  light  pressure  of  her  fingers  on  my  arm. 
Half  jesting  I  said,  out  of  a  silence  that  was  mak- 
ing my  heart  beat  strangely : 


"I  suppose  when  I  come  West  again,  in  a 
year  or  so,  I  shall  find  you  married,  Luella  ? " 

"  Ye-es,"  she  said  softly,  with  a  sort  of  flutter- 
ing, indrawn  breath. 

Down  went  my  heart  like  lead. 

"  Why  —  you  're  not  —  engaged  ?  "  I  man- 
aged to  stammer. 

"No,"  she  replied  slowly;  "but,  I  must 
marry;"  and  then  she  added,  with  singular  irrele- 
vancy, I  thought :  "  I  always  spend  my  Winters 
in  the  city." 

"Oh!"  I  said,  trying  to  rally.  "And,  of 
course,  you  have  many  admirers  there  ?  " 

"Yes,"  she  said  simply;   "of  course." 

"And  one,  perhaps,  who  is  especially  dear?" 
I  ventured  to  ask. 

3  /<> 


I  thought  her  lip  trembled. 

"There's  no  one  there  I  care  for,"  she  re- 
plied, looking  away  from  me  sadly. 

"Yet,  you  speak  —  of  —  of  being  married." 
My  lip  was  certainly  trembling,  and  my  voice 
also. 

"  What  can  I  do  ? "  she  asked  piteously  ; 
"  you  see  how  I  am  situated.  If  I  had  brothers 
or  sisters,  or  even — " 

I  gave  myself  up  for  lost ;  and,  with  my  right 
hand  I  took  possession  of  the  little  fingers  that 
clasped  my  left  arm.  They  turned  themselves 
warmly  to  meet  my  clasp;  but  at  that  instant  an 
approaching  figure,  which  we  had  been  too  ab- 
sorbed to  perceive,  hailed  us  from  the  near  dis- 
tance. 

"Hello!    Is  that  you ?"  asked  a  rough  voice. 

As  I  did  not  know  whether  it  was  or  not,  I 
forbore  to  answer ;  but  Luella  called  promptly : 
"  Yes ;  what 's  the  matter  ?  " 

"Telegraph  for  him''  was  the  response,  as 
the  form  came  nearer.  "  Thought  I  'd  holler 
along,  an'  let  ye  know." 

The  speaker  was  a  ranchman  with  whom  I 
had  spent  some  conversational  hours  in  the  early 
part  of  my  stay  at  Strykupp.  I  withdrew  my 
hand  from  Luella's  — 

"A  telegram  for  me!      Let  me  see  it." 

"I  ain't  got  it.  It  's  to  the  hotel.  But  Hob 
seen  it,  and  he  reckoned  I  'd  better  hunt  ye  up 
and  tell  ye;  an'  he  tole  me  to  tell  ye,  ye  best 
hurry  back,  in  case  you  want  to  answer  it.  Mose, 
—  the  telegraph  operator,  —  is  goin'  to  a  dance 
up  creek,  'bout  ten  o'clock.  Like  as  not  he  won't 
git  back  till  to-morra  mornin'  —  " 


I)arns  from  Puck. 


So  Fate,  indeed,  had  strangely  interposed, 
and  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  say  good  night 
to  Luella,  with  a  murmured  hope  of  meeting  her 
on  the  morrow,  and  to  start  back  to  town  with 
my  envoy. 

We  chatted  pleasantly  as  we  trudged  along 
in  the  moonlight,  and  I  led  the  conversation  at 
once  to  the  subject  of  my  thoughts. 

"She  's   a  right  down  nice  little  woman,  an' 
no  mistake,"  said  Reub,  heartily;   "an'  well  fixed, 
I  tell  ye.      OP  man  Curry,  he  might  'a'  hed  faults, 
but,  all   things  kensidered,  he   clone 
well  by  her.      No  mistake." 

"  It  seems  odd  to   call  her  a 
woman"    I    remonstrated;     "she 
can't  be  over  eighteen." 

"  She  ?  She  's  risin'  twenty, 
L'el  Curry  is.  Why,  lemme  see. 
She  were  sixteen  past,  the  fust 
time  she  were  married." 

"  The  first  time  —  what  ?  " 
I  stood  still  in  amazement. 

"  She  runned  away,  the  fust 
time,"  said  Reub,  impartially; 
"an'  she  were  sixteen,  then." 

"Man,  you  don't  mean  to 
tell  me  that  Luella  Curry  —  is 
—  was  married?  —  " 

Reub  nodded.  "  Why,  sir,  for  a  fact ;  ain't 
you  knowed  it  ?  Yes ;  course  !  Fust,  she  married 
Abie  Sayres;  runned  away  with  him  when  she 
was  a  visitin'  in  Chicago — an'  then  they  were 
divorced  ;  an'  then  she  married  oF  man  Curry,  an' 
they  divorced.  I  dunno  whose  fault  't  was.  She 
's  a  nice  woman,  L'ella  is  —  /  kensider  her  so." 

21 


"This  is  a  surprise  to  me,"  I  said,  when  I 
could  say  anything;  "she  never  told  me  she  was 
married." 

"  Lookin'  out  for  another,  mebbe.  Likely  't 
is.  I  hearn  she  's  goin'  to  Chicago  this  Winter. 
She  always  gets  married  when  she  goes  to  Chi- 
cago." 

"And  —  are  both  her  husbands  living?"  1 
asked. 

"  I  guess  they  be.  Abie  Sayres,  he  never  left 
her  nothin'.  He  went  East.  She  would  n't  go. 
That 's  how  they  come  to  sep'rate.  But  Currie ; 
well,  he  sor  a  woman  that  suited  him  better;  a 
widda  'bout  his  own  age.  Why,  bless  ye,  he  was 
good  twenty  years  older  'n  L'ella !  So  he  jes'  give 
her  this  place  out  an'  out — jes'  as  ye  see  it." 
I  telegraphed  to  Cassell : 

"Shall  start  East  on  the 
5:30  train,  to-morrow  A.  M." 
My  friend  Bob,  who  al- 
ways rose  early  on  account 
of  having  to  open  the  store, 
walked  with  me  in  the  gray 
dawn  to  the  station.  As  In- 
wrung  my  hand  at  parting, 
he  said  significantly : 

"Need    n't     say    nothin' 
about   it,   but   dunno  as   I  '11 
keep  store  another  year." 
"How  is  that?  "  I  asked,  with  in- 
terest. 

"Wai,  I  'm  thinkin'  of  makin'  up  a  match 
with  Luella  Currie.  She  ain't  bin  married  for 
quite  a  while  back,  an'  I  kinder  guess  she  's  agree- 
able —  " 


^   IJarns  fa"1  Pucft»  ^ 

"Good-by,  Bob,"  I  said  fervently;  "here  's 
the  train.      God  bless  you,  my  boy !  " 
"  Good-by,  old  man ! "  said  Bob. 

Madeline  S.  Bridges. 


THE  JIGS    OF   ABNER    PEABODY. 


"  '  The,   misthrcss  have  sint  me  up 
?v id  yer  fay,  sor'." 


20 


THE     JIGS     OF     ABNER    PEABODY. 


iQBODY    could    dance    more    fluently 
than    Abner    Peabody.       Time    and 
place  mattered  little,  so  that  he  had 
inspiration  in  the  form  of  music.   He 
floated  into  a  dance,  then,  as  naturally 
as  boarders  float    into   the   dining-room 
when  the  bell  rings. 

And  speaking  of  boarders  recalls  the  fact 
that  Mr.  Peabody  was  a  favorite  in  his  boarding- 
house.  He  was  not  a  funny  man,  hardly  a  genial 
one ;  as  a  card-player  he  was  ordinary ;  as  a  banjo- 
player  he  was  a  failure,  mainly  because  he  beat 
time  so  hard  with  his  feet  that  he  threw  himself 
out  of  tune ;  he  did  not  dress  flagrantly ;  he  was 
disposed  to  be  reserved  in  speech  and  conduct ; 
he  did  not  .give  away  many  cigars;  he  seldom 
bought  candy. 

Nevertheless,  the  landlady  liked  him  because 
he  was  a  light  eater  of  meat,  and  paid  regularly ; 
Bridget,  the  maid,  liked  him  because  she  often 
found  keys  and  pennies  strewn  about  the  floor,  as 
if  shaken  from  his  pockets  —  though  she  always 
returned  the  keys;  most  of  the  boarders  liked  him 
because  he  was  always  \\illing  to  resign  the  last 
chop,  and  could  be  counted  on  to  dance  when 
27 


festivities  occurred  in  the  parlor ;  but  two  regarded 
him  wifrh  dislike. 

'Emanuel  Hennessy  had  taken  offense  at  some 
strictures  that  Mr.  Peabody  once  made  as  to  the 
desirability  of  the  lyth  of  March,  and  Matilda 
Greer  was  jealous  of  the  landlady.  Miss  Greer 


had  come  to  an  age  when  she  no  longer  expected 
attentions  from  gentlemen,  but  by  the  same  token 
she  was  exacting  in  the  matter  of  food,  and  what 
she  paid  for  she  intended  to  have. 

Things  came  to  a  pass  one  evening  when 
chicken  soup  was  announced  for  dinner.  Miss 
Greer  came  late  to  table,  and  she  was  willing  to 
make  affidavit  that  the  chicken  in  her  soup  was 
veal;  but  she  had  looked  into  Peabody's  plate, 
and  had  seen  feathers.  (It  should  be  remarked  in 
parentheses  that  when  the  landlady  discovered  this 
cause  of  complaint,  the  soup  was  always  afterward 
decorated  from  the  pillows.)  If  there  was  any- 


^    partis  from  puck.   V 

thing  that  Miss  Greer  disliked  it  was  a  partial 
boarding-house,  and  she  said  so  that  evening  at 
the  tiddledy-winks  meeting  in  Miss  Mulsifer's  room. 
Oddly  enough,  on  the  same  night,  Mr.  Hennessy 
had  a  rock-and-rye  party  in  his  chamber  on  the 
fourth  floor  back,  and  the  sins  of  Mr.  Peabody,  in 
respect  of  the  xyth  of  March,  were  laid  before 
the  body  in  their  shameless  daring. 

Each  t>f  these  conspirators  held  a  quiet 
tongue  at  meals,  a  thing  easy  to  do  where  there  is 
work  for  jaws  ;  but  kept  a  deal  of  thinking  as  to 
how  Mr.  Peabody  might  be  reproved;  white  he, 
poor  innocent,  continued  to  enjoy  the  favor  of  his 
keepers,  and  could  call  for  a  second  plate  of  pie 
with  a  confidence  that  few  others  in  the  room 
either  felt  or  affected. 

Shortly  after,  in  the  middle  of  a  dinner,  Clara 
Casteyne,  who  had  just  been  to  Maillard's  with 
her  young  man  and  had  left  her  appetite  there, 
began  to  practice  on  the  piano  in  the  parlor  over- 
head. As  the  music  struck  into  a  brisk  measure, 
Mr.  Peabody  was  visibly  agitated.  His  legs  be- 
came restless  and  irresponsible,  and  he  clung  to 
his  chair  with  one  hand,  while  eagerly  plying  his 
knife  with  the  other.  At  last  he  dropped  the  knife, 
arose,  and  with  a  blitheness  of  step  that  made  the 
gravity  of  his  face  seem  deeper,  he  went  upstairs 
in  time  to  the  music,  sighing  regretfully  all  the 
way.  This  incident  did  not  pass  unnoticed  by 
Miss  Greer  and  Mr.  Hennessy,  and  they  com- 
mented on  it  when  the  other  boarders  had  drifted 
away. 

Discussion  led  to  an  exchange  of  confidences 
between  them,  and  they  were  talking  in  low  tones 
when  the  music  stopped,  and  Mr.  Peabody  unex- 
29 


pectedly  descended  into  the  dining-room,  and 
asked  if  he  could  have  his  dessert.  The  landlady 
brought  it  from  the  kitchen  with  her  own  hands, 
and  set  it  before  him,  expressing  a  hope  that  he 
was  not  ill. 

"  Not  at  all,  Madam.  Only  a  turn  —  a  few 
turns.  I  —  ah  —  would  regard  it  as  a  favor, 
Madam,  if  Miss  Casteyne  would  practice  before 
dinner." 

"  I  will  speak  to  her.  Do  you  like  the  short- 
cake?" 

"Excellent,  Madam." 

"  She  gave  him  five,"  muttered  Miss  Greer, 
at  the  other  end  of  the  table. 

"Five  pieces?"  gasped   Mr.  Hennessy. 
"  No;  berries." 

"  I  '11  wager  it  's  two  more   than  any 
of  the    rest  of   us   had,"   grumbled 
Mr.  Hennessy. 

"  She  's  actually  giving 
him  a  second  plate,"  said  Miss 
Greer,  starting  to  her  feet.  "  It 
's  favoritism;  that 's  what  it  is." 
A  hard  light  came  into  her 
eyes ;  she  flung  out  of  the  room, 
and  half  a  minute  later  the  piano 
was  going  again.  As  the  air  of 
"  The  Irish  Washerwoman  "  rang 
out,  Mr.  Peabody  groaned  and  tried  to  finish  his 
second  helping  of  shortcake ;  but  though  he  used 
his  utmost  speed,  his  agitation  increased  so  fast 
that  the  spoon  fell  from  his  fingers,  he  sprang  to 
his  feet,  and  went  careering  up  the  stairs. 

After  the  door  had  shut,  a  rhythmic  jar  was 
audible  in  his  room,  and  the  china  vases  on  his 


^    parns  from  Puck,   ^ 

mantel  could  be  heard  to  jingle.  "  The  Irish 
Washerwoman "  was  rollicking  from  the  piano 
louder  and  more  briskly  than  ever.  Bridget 
presently  knocked  at  the  Peabody  chamber,  and 
asked : 

"  Is  it  sick  ye  are,  sor  ?  " 

"  Nope,"  came  in  a  labored  tone  from 
within. 

"  The  misthress  have  sint  me  up  wid  yer 
tay,  sor." 

"All  —  right.      Come  —  in." 

As  Bridget  opened  the  door,  she  was  so 
astonished  that  the  tea-cup  almost  fell  from  her 
hand,  for  Mr.  Peabody  had  thrown  off  his  coat, 
kicked  his  shoes  into  opposite  corners,  and  was 
removing  his  necktie  while  dancing  furiously. 
His  face  was  sorrowful  and  sweaty. 

"  It  is  —  quite  warm,"  he  puffed,  still  danc- 
ing. "  Will  you  —  please  open  the  —  window  ? 
Thanks.  I  would  —  like  that  tea-he  —  very 
mu-u-u-ch,  if  I  —  thought  I  could  manage ;  — " 
and  with  an  all-hancls-around  movement  he  caught 
the  cup  as  he  passed,  and  tried  to  drink ;  but  at 
that  instant  the  player  in  the  parlor  started  afresh, 
louder  and  livelier  than  ever,  and  Mr.  Peabody, 
keeping  time,  spilled  half  of  the  tea  on  his 
trousers. 

"Dear!  Dear!  It  's  quite — unpleasant! 
Whew!  But  I  really  can  not  —  take  it  while  — 
I  'm  going  —  on  like  this  —  at  least,  from  a  — 
cup.  Do  you  sup-pose  there  's  —  a  nursing-bottle 
—  in  the  house?" 

"  I  '11  see,  sir." 

"And  who  —  is  play-ing  on  the  —  piano, 
this  time  ?  " 


•'  Miss  Greer,  sor." 

"  O-o-oh !      Why  will  she  —  do  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  sor.  Will  I  bring  yer  lay  in 
a  bottle,  sor  ?  " 

"  If —  you  —  please." 

And  it  was  so  administered.  These  facts 
were  drawn  from  Bridget  by  a  limited  but  judi- 
cious outlay  of  coin  and  sympathy  after  the  piano 
had  become  silent,  about  nine  o'clock.  At  break- 
fast next  morning  "  The  Irish  Washerwoman " 
broke  forth  again  with  vicious  energy.  Mr.  Pea- 
body,  taken  unaware,  was  seized  with  a  jig  at  the 
table,  and  his  coffee  went  into  the  hash.  He  \va-. 
confused  by  the  stern  regard  of  Mr.  Hennessy, 
and  assuming  a  calm  that  he  did  not  feel,  he  tried 
to-  eat  deliberately ;  but  as  his  feet  were  dancing 
under  the  table  his  movements  were  erratic,  and 
twice  he  dipped  marmalade  into  the  bosom  of  his  - 
shirt.  At  last,  as  he  was  rising,  with  a  groan,  the 
music  stopped  and  he  sadly  finished  his  meal. 

The  November  elections  were  at  hand,  and 
it  was  well  known  that  Mr.  Peabody  was  not 
without  a  hope  of  being  able  to  serve  his  country 
as  an  alderman.  He  needed  the  place,  because 
the  hosiery  trade,  in  which  he  was  embarked,  had 
been  suffering  depression.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
he  received  the  Republican  nomination,  and,  as 
the  Second  Ward  was  strongly  Republican,  the 
district  boss  told  him  that  he  was  as  good  as 
elected,  and  assessed  him  two  hundred  dollars 
for  campaign  expenses.  But  there  was  an  ob- 
stacle of  which  he  had  not  wotted.  He  had 
never  dreamed  of  wotting  it.  This  obstacle  was 
Mr.  Hennessy.  That  gentleman  had  called  at 
the  office  of  the  Democratic  committee  and  had 


from 

spent  an  hour  in  secret  converse  with  the  owner 
of  the  city,  with  results  that  apparently  put  Mr. 
Hennessy  into  a  state  of  content. 

Two  nights  before  election  a  meeting  was 
held  in  Pentagon  Square  to  indorse  the  can- 
didates, the  platform  being  enlivened  with  lan- 
terns, bunting  and  orators.  There  were  also  a 
throng  and  twenty  dollars'  worth  of  fireworks. 

When  Mr.  Peabody's  turn  came  to  address 
the  multitude,  he  was  allowed  barely  time  to 
allude  to  the  Constitution,  and  the  grand  old 
war-horse  of  the  party  who  had  just  spoken, 
before  a  band,  concealed  in  the  crowd,  disclosed 
itself  with  "  The  Irish  Washerwoman,"  played 
forte  and  scherzo.  Mr.  Peabody  jumped,  his  jaw 
fell  and  his  eyes  started.  Then  he  clutched  the 
rail,  but  he  could  not  keep  himself  down.  He 
began  to  dance. 

"Hold  my  legs!"  he  said,  in  a  loud  and 
urgent  whisper  to  the  grand  old  war-horses  of  the 
party  who  sat  behind  him;  but  the  horses  did 
not  move;  in  fact,  one  of  them  said,  audibly, 
that  the  misuse  of  liquor  was  to  be  regretted. 

"  Hold  my  legs,  will  you  ? "  repeated  Mr. 
Peabody,  hanging  to  the  rail,  and  now  dancing 
so  high  that  his  coat-tails  came  to  the  level  of 
his  ears. 

"  Oh,  will  some  of  you  stop  me,  or  else  stop 
that  band?"  he  continued,  with  anger  now  min- 
gled in  his  regret. 

But  none  seemed  to  understand  the  situation, 
and  as  the  music  continued  faster  and  faster,  the 
dance  went  on  with  greater  fury,  Mr.  Peabody 
clinging  to  the  bar  and  occasionally  reaching 
such  an  elevation  that  his  legs,  hanging  in  space, 

33 


seemed  to  form  with  his  arms  an  inverted  letter  Y. 
The  populace  gazed  with  surprise  at  his  actions, 
and  several  people  ventured  remarks  of  dis- 
approval. The  beating  of  Mr.  Peabody's  feet 
on  the  boards  raised  a  dust  that  made  the  war- 
horses  cough. 

Suddenly,  a  voice  was  heard   above   the   din 
of  the  band  and  dance:  "Ye '11  cast  asper-r-rsions 
on   the   Sivinteenth   of  March,  will   ye,   ye  milk 
livered   divil  ?      Dance,   now,   to   a   good   old  St. 
Pathrick's  Day  tune.     Jig  it  lively." 

"Is  that  —  you,  Hen-nessy?"  cried  Mr. 
Peabody,  with  a  shuffle  and  a  jump.  "(Jet  'em 
—  to  stop  it,  that  's  —  a  good  fel-low." 

"  I  'm  not  a  good  fellow  to  the  like  of  you. 
Dance,  will  you !  Look  at  that,  now !  "  he  added 
in  affected  admiration  as  the  soloist  on  the  plat- 
form almost  flung  a  somersault. 

34 


^    l)arns  from  Puck.   ^ 

"  It  's  a  con-spiracy ! "  panted  Mr.  Peabody. 
"  I  hope,  gentle-men,  that  —  you  will  not  con- 
sider me  guilty —  of  frivolous  con-duct.  Please, 
kill  that  —  band.  The  fact  —  is,  my  father  and 
mother  were  dancing  tea-chers,  and  I  —  was  born 
at  —  a  ball.  My  birth-mark — is  jigs.  Where 
— are  the  po-lice  ?  I  did — hope  that  —  I 
should  be  —  able  to  get  through  —  this  campaign 
without  —  making  an  ex-hibition  of  myself;  but  it 
is  impos-sible  for  me  to  hear  music  —  without 
dancing  —  so  the  —  mischief  is  done,  and  Hen- 
nessy — has  done  it. 

The  music  stopped.  Mr.  Peabody  stopped. 
He  was  not  elected. 

C.  S.  Montgomery. 


35 


THE     CAREER     OF    A    SOCIETY 
ACTRESS. 


V 


"  The   'English  Society   Oiteeti'.' 


THE  CAREER  OF  A  SOCIETY  ACTRESS. 


TOLD  IN   CABLE  DISPATCHES  AND  PARAGRAPHS. 
SPECIAL  CABLE  DISPATCH  FROM  LONDON. 

N  the  breach-of-promise  case 
brought  by  the  Hon.  Mrs. 
Winkerton  Getthere  against 
Lord  Algernon  Rocks,  the 
jury  yesterday  awarded  the 
fair  plaintiff  £10,000  dam- 
ages. The  story  that  Mrs. 

Getthere  intends  to  star  in  a  piece  written  ex- 
pressly for  her  is  indignantly  denied  by  the  lady's 
friends,  who  include  such  people  as  the  Prince 
of  Wales,  the  Duke  of  Winks,  Lord  Malodor, 
Captain  Seesaw  Fowraces,  late  of  the  Guards,  and 
Lady  Queer. 

SPECIAL  CABLE  DISPATCH,  No.  2. 
Mr.  Benjamin  Lively  Hustle,  of  the  well- 
known  American  firm  of  managers,  Hustle  & 
Hardup,  yesterday  signed  a  contract  with  the 
Hon.  Mrs.  Winkerton  Getthere,  for  a  ten  weeks' 
tour  in  America.  Mrs.  Getthere  will  star  in  a 
play  written  expressly  for  her  by  a  leading  play- 

39 


V 

wright,  and  founded  on  Mrs.  Gettheres  recent 
romantic  and  interesting  experiences  in  Society 
and  the  courts.  The  distinguished  lady  stated 
to  your  correspondent,  yesterday,  that  she  had 
consented  to  take  this  important  step,  not  for  the 
sake  of  pecuniary  gain,  but  in  order  that  she 
might  vindicate  her  honor  as  a  woman.  Mr. 
Hustle  declares  that  he  heard  his  new  star  read 
"Curfew  Shall  Not  Ring  To-night,"  at  Lady 
Malodor's  garden  party,  and  is  confident  that  he 
has  secured  a  second  Neilson.  He  believes  that 


the  amount  of  interest  awakened  in  America  by 
the  printed  reports  of  the  persecutions  to  which 
this  sainted  lady  has  been  subjected,  will  insure 
for  her  large  audiences  from  the  start. 

FROM   THE   Morning  Ho-wlcr. 
Manager    Hardup    and    a    hundred    invited 
guests,  including  a  great  many  well-known  jour- 
nalists and   members  of  the   dramatic   profession, 
went    down    the    Bay  yesterday   to  welcome    the 
Hon.    Mrs.  Winkerton   Getthere,  who   arrived  on 
40 


^    IJarns  from 

the  City  of  Hoboken,  accompanied  by  Manager 
Hustle,  who  will  give  his  personal  attention  to 
her  forthcoming  American  tour.  The  new  star 
was  attired  in  a  plaid  traveling  suit,  which  set 
off  her  figure  to  the  best  advantage.  She  wel- 
comed the  Press  representatives  and  other  of 
Manager  Hardup's  guests  with  a  gracious  savoir 
fain-  which  stamped  her  at  once  as  one  of  the 
recherche  monde  of  which  she  has  long  been  a  dis- 
tinguished ornament. 

"  I  am  more  than  delighted  with  America," 
said  the  famous  Society  Queen,  when  an  oppor- 
tunity offered  for  a  quiet  chat  with  the  reporter. 
"As  for  my  art — well,  you  must  be  judges  of 
that ;  but,  then,  you  Americans  are  so  generous 
and  brave  that  I  know  you  will  be  kind  to  a 
woman  who  has  suffered  so  terribly  as  I  have." 


The  tears  came  to  her  eyes  as  she  uttered 
these  words ;  but  she  dashed  them  away  with  a 
quick  motion  of  her  hand,  and  said,  with  a  smile 
of  exquisite,  winning  sweetness : 

"  Now,  let  us  choose  some  brighter,  happier 
topic  for  conversation  —  my  new  dresses  for  ex- 
41 


ample.  They  are  all  from  Worth's,  and  are 
simply  dreams  of  delight.  There  is  one  of  pale 
green,  which  -I  shall  wear  in  the  second  act  of 
'  Stainless  and  Free,'  that  1  think  is  the  loveliest 
thing  I  ever  saw." 

Mrs.  Getthere  will  appear  at  Messrs.  Hustle 
&  Hardup's  handsome  theatre  on  the  3oth  inst., 
in  her  new  play,  "Stainless  and  Free,"  which 
depicts  in  a  vivid  manner  many  of  the  exciting 
scenes  in  the  much  maligned  lady's  career. 


PRESS  COMMENTS  FROM_THK  PAPERS  OF  THE  31  ST. 

FROM  THE  Morning  Scorcher. 
A  certain  Mrs.  Winkerton  Getthere  appeared 
last  night  at  Messrs.  Hustle  &  Hardup's  Theatre, 
in  what  that  enterprising  firm  of  managers  have 
the  audacity  to  describe  as  a  "comedy  drama," 
and  which  served  admirably  as  a  vehicle  for  the 
display  of  the  lady's  incompetency  and  vulgarity. 
Nothing  but  the  charity  of  the  audience  saved  her 
and  her  comedy  drama  from  being  hissed  from 
the  stage. 

FROM  THE  Daily  Screamer. 

We  have  had  English  actresses  before  this, 
and  bad  ones,  too ;  but  never  before  has  a  human 
automaton  of  Mrs.  Getthere's  calibre  ventured  to 
appear  before  a  New  York  audience.  Even  the 
large  assemblage  of  deadheads  thinned  out  per- 
ceptibly before  the  three  acts  of  what  she  calls 
her  play  were  finished. 

Owing   to   the   indulgence   of  the   audience, 


^    pants  from  puck.   ^ 

Mrs.  Getthere  was  allowed  to  occupy  the  stage 
until  the  bitter  end.  The  new  "  English  Society 
Queen"  is  a  miracle  of  incompetence,  and  the 
sooner  she  returns  to  the  exalted  circles  of.  which 
—  according  to  the  advertisements — she  has  long 


been  a  distinguished   ornament,  the  better  it  will 
be  for  the  American  Stage. 

FROM  THE  Daily  Puffer. 

Art  has  its  limitations. 

A  beautiful  woman  has  none. 

Mrs.  Winkerton  Getthere,  roaming  like  a 
graceful  gazelle  through  the  flower- strewn  meads 
of  rhetoric  of  which  "Stainless  and  Free"  is 
composed,  is  like  a  breath  from  the  far-off  Spice 
Islands. 

When  she  speaks,  we  hear  the  voice  of  peer- 
less Adelaide  Neilson.  When  she  walks,  or,  rather, 
glides  across  the  stage,  we  see  before  us,  in  the 
flesh,  the  realization  of  the  dream  of  a  Greek 
artist. 

And  yet  we  doubt  if  Mrs.  Getthere's  divine 
art  will  appeal  to  the  great  ruck  of  humanity  who 
pour  into  our  play-houses,  reeking  with  the  in- 

43 


^  f?atiks>    v 

toxicating  perfumes  of  Sardou,  and  with  the  hide- 
ous din  of  Hartley  Campbell  still  ringing  in  their 
ears. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  Mrs.  Getthere's  debut  last 
night  was  an  artistic  event  which  will  long  be 
remembered. 

PRESS  COMMENTS. 

(Arranged  by  ^Messrs.    Hustle   6°  Hard  up,  for  use 
"O/i  the  Road.") 


READ  WHAT  THE    NEW  YORK    PAPERS 

SAY  OF  ENGLAND'S  PEERLESS 

SOCIETY  QUEEN! 

The  Scorcher  says:  "A  comedy  drama  which 
served  admirably  as  a  display  for  the  lady." 

The  Daily  Screamer  says  :  "The  new  English 
Society  Queen  is  a  miracle." 

The  Daily  Puffer  says :  "Mrs.  Getthere's 
debut  last  night  was  an  artistic  event  which  will 
long  be  remembered." 

FROM  THE  Evening  Ghost  (Two  WEEKS  LATER). 

Another  English  "Society  Actress,"  so  called, 
has  come  to  grief,  to  the  great  surprise  of  her 
managers,  one  of  whom  remarked,  with  charming 
naircte  to  a  reporter,  that,  although  he  had 
"worked  her  London  scandal  for  all  it  was  worth, 
still  you  could  n't  club  people  up  to  the  box- 
office."  When  Mr.  Hustle  was  asked  what  he 
thought  of  her  acting,  he  made  answer:  "Act! 
Why,  I  guess  she  can  act  alongside  of  most  of 
them  Society  amateurs;  but  we  did  n't  figure  on 
that  at  all.  We  supposed,  of  course,  that  this 


^    IJarns  from  puck,   ^ 

business  about  Rocks  —  and  we  had  the  Duke  of 
Winks  scandal  to  fall  back  on  —  would  pull 
people  into  the  house  like  an  exhaust  pump.  But 
the  popular  taste  is  fickle,  and  the  lady  was  a 
frost  from  the  word  go." 

It     is     positively    refreshing    to    read    these 
breezy  words.      It   is   delightful   to   think  that  al- 
though the  "lady,"  as  Mr.  Hustle 
calls  her,  came  to  us  with  the 
prestige    of    two    aristocratic 
scandals,  still  the  discerning 
American  public  could  not 
be   "clubbed   up   to   the 
box-office."      And   while 
we  can  not  refrain  from 
admiring  the  tireless  en- 
ergy and  ingenuity  with 
which    our    two    famous 
managers  "worked  the  Lon- 
don  scandal   for    all    it    was 
worth,"  still  our  pity  for  them  is  drowned  in  the 
delightful  reflection  that  the  play-going  public  is 
emerging  from  swaddling  clothes,  and  putting  on 
the  toga  of  manhood  and  wisdom. 

FROM  THF,  Morning  Howler  (Two  WEEKS  LATER). 
The  Hon.  Mrs.  Winkerton  Getthere  sailed 
yesterday  on  the  Anchoria.  It  is  rumored  that 
her  passage  money  was  paid  with  a  check  signed 
by  Mr.  Palmidays  Broke,  acting  treasurer  of  the 
Actors'  Fund. 

J.  L.  Ford. 


45 


THE    STORY 
OF    SHIFTLESS    SMITH. 


"7  couldn't  sit  still  and  tell  it, 
but  I  had  to  walk  the  /Aw  and  act 
as  though  I  was  going  through  the 
whole  thing  again." 


THE   STORY  OF   SHIFTLESS   SMITH. 


IROQUOIS  HOTEL, 

BUFFALO,  N.  Y.,  November  4th,  18 — . 
DEAR  WIFE: 

When  you  get  this  long  letter 
you  will  be  astonished  to  see 
that  I  am  away  out  here  in  Buf- 
falo ;  and  when  I  tell  you  how  I 
came  to  be  here  and  what  I  am 
doing  here,  I  am  afraid  you  will 
not  believe  me.  You  will  say  I  am  out  of  my 
head.  But  all  I  shall  tell  you,  my  dear  wife,  is 
perfectly  true. 

For  some  time  before  I  left  home  I  had 
been  nearly  distracted  from  thinking  of  our  con- 
dition there  on  the  farm ;  of  how  I  had  let  the 
property  dwindle  away,  a  few  acres  every  year, 
until  there  was  so  little  of  it  left  that  there  seemed 
to  be  nothing  ahead  of  us  but  the  poor-house. 

Everybody  said  it  was  on  account  of  my 
laziness,  and  I  suppose  they  were  right.  But  oh! 
how  many  times  I  have  tried  to  overcome  that 
hatred  of  mine  for  farm  work.  I  would  start  out 
in  the  morning  full  of  firm  resolve,  but  when  I 
would  sit  down  on  the  log  under  the  cherry-tree 
by  the  well  for  a  moment's  rest,  the  children 


would  see  me  from  across  the  street ;  and  when 
they  came  over,  I  would  begin  telling  them 
stories,  and  fool  and  play  with  them  while  you 
went  about  your  housework  with  a  solemn  face, 
looking  at  me  from  time  to  time,  but  saying  noth- 
ing. And  afterward,  all  my  morning  resolutions 
melted  away.  I  would  get  an  old 
book  and  read,  read,  read  until 
the  sun  got  low. 

I  saw  this  Fall  that  my 
miserable  little  crops  would 
not  keep  us  through  half  the 
Winter.  I  did  not  know 
what  could  be  done.  I  told 
you  that  I  would  go  to 
Bridgeport  and  try  to  find 
work  in  the  shops  there. 

I  did  go  to  Bridgeport,  but  they  laughed  at 
me.  What  could  they  do  with  an  old  farmer 
like  me?  So  I  thought  I  would  try  South  Nor- 
walk ;  but  I  got  on  a  fast  express  train  by  mistake 
and  was  carried  through  to  New  York. 

You  never  can  think  how  I  felt  when  I  found 
myself  in  that  big  city.  It  was  getting  late,  and 
I  put  up  in  a  cheap  lodging-house  for  the  night. 
Next  morning,  my  first  thought  was  to  urt 
away  from  New  York.  I  was  an  object  of  ridi- 
cule, I  felt,  because  of  my  long  hair  and  my  out- 
landish clothes.  I  was  pointed  at  and  laughed 
at  everywhere. 

I  was  walking  hurriedly  toward  the  railroad 

station  when   some  one  touched  me  on  the  arm 

and  asked  me  if  he  could  speak  with  me  a  minute. 

"  I  don't  think  you  can   have   any  business 

with  me,"  I  said.   ' 


Dams  from 


"That  will  depend  upon  yourself  altogether," 
he  replied;  "but  if 't  will  not  be  giving  offence, 
1  '11  state  the  business  I  'd  like  to  have  with  you." 

"  You  're  right,"  said  I,  "  to  take  me  for  a 
countryman ;  but  you  are  wrong  if  you  think  I 
don't  read  the  papers.  The  trouble  with  me  has 
always  been  that  I  read  too  much.  Now,  I  have 
just  fifty  cents,"  said  I,  "  and  these  old  clothes." 

The  man  laughed  and  put  his  hand  on  my 
shoulder. 

"  Ye  make  my  business  easy,"  he  said,  with 
a  sort  of  brogue.  "  'T  is  the  clothes  that  arrested 
my  attention,  sir;  I  want  them." 

I  thought  he  was  making  fun  of  me  and 
turned  to  go  on ;  but  he  would  not  let  me.  To 
make  the  story  short,  I  found  that  he  was  in 
earnest,  and  did  want  my  old  clothes  for  some 
special  use.  I  agreed  to  let  him  have  them,  and 
he  took  me  to  a  clothing  store  where  I 
exchanged  them  for  a  new  suit,  new 
shoes,  a  new  hat  and  a  white  shirt. 
He  paid  the  bill. 

When  I  was  dressed  in  the 
new  clothes  the  man  looked  at  me 
with  a  jolly  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"  'T  is  all  in  the  duds,"  said 
he.      "  With    the    clothes    you   've 
shed  I  '11  make  an  actor,  and  with 
those    you  've   just    put    on    I   've 
made  another.      Get  a  shave  and  a  bit  of  a  clip 
with  the  scissors   around   the  neck,  my  boy,  and 
ye  '11  be  the  picture  of  Mister  Jeffson.      Good-by 
—  good  loock." 

He  shook  my  hand  and  left  me.    I  was  sorry 
to  part   with   him ;   I   think  we  could   have   had 
s  si 


some  fun  together.  A  hundred  miles  from  home 
and  no  way  to  get  back  but  to  walk.  No  money, 
no  work,  and  Winter  coming  on ;  all  these  things 
on  my  mind,  and  yet  I  could  have  told  stories 
and  cracked  jokes  with  this  stranger  for  half  a 
day  if  he  had  given  me  the  chance.  The  old 
story,  Martha. 

I  took  the  man's  advice  and  got  shaved  ; 
and  the  barber  trimmed  my  hair  just  a  little. 
This  took  thirty-five  of  my  fifty  cents.  Perhaps 
I  ought  not  to  have  spent  the  money,  but  with 
my  new  clothes  I  thought  I  needed  the  trim- 
ming up. 

No  one  guyed  me  after  this,  but  people 
noticed  me  a  good  deal  in  a  different  way.  Most 
of  those  I  met  turned  their  heads  to  look  at  me ; 
some  halted,  as  though  they  recognized  my  face; 
two  or  three  well-dressed  gentlemen  bowed  and 
touched  their  hats.  I  did  the  same,  and  could 
not  help  but  think  what  my  friend  had  said : 
"  T  is  all  in  the  duds." 

Then  I  turned  toward  the  station,  and  my 
spirits  were  down  again.  Dressed  like  a  gentle- 
man, it  seemed  hard  to  have  to  walk  so  many 
miles  on  the  track.  "  I  don't  believe  this  Mr. 
Jeffson,  who  looks  like  me,  would  do  that,"  I 
thought;  and  it  made  me  laugh  to  think  how 
I  might  be  taken  for  him  while  walking  on  the 
ties.  It  is  strange  that  I  will  have  these  light 
thoughts,  no  matter  what  trouble  I  may  be  in. 

Some  ladies,  dressed  in  silks  and  furs,  passed 
out  of  the  station-door  and  smiled  and  bowed 
as  they  stepped  into  their  carriage,  but  I  did  not 
realize  that  they  were  bowing  to  me  until  they 
were  gone.  I  was  considering  whether  I  had 
52 


better  ride  a  little  way  or  begin  my  walk  at  once, 
and  save  the  fifteen  cents  for  sandwiches.  How 
I  dreaded  that  walk ! 

I  raised  my  head,  and  over  near  where  the 
carriage  had  stood  I  saw  a  little  white  card  lying 
on  the  walk.  I  stepped  over  and  picked  it  up. 
It  was  a  ticket  to  Buffalo.  I  suppose  one  of 
the  ladies  had  dropped  it.  Of  course,  I  could 
not  find  the  lady,  and  I  did  not  think  of  such 
a  thing  as  selling  the  ticket,  although  I  have 
learned  since  that  I  might  easily  have  done  so. 

I  decided  to  go  to  Buffalo.  I  could  ride 
there  in  less  time  than  I  could  walk  to  South 
Norwalk.  I  could  find  work  in  one  place  as 
easily  as  in  the  other.  I  could  send  you  money 
from  Buffalo  as  well  as  from  Norwalk,  I  thought. 
I  suppose  it  was  a  foolish  thing  to  do,  but  no 
one  knows  better  than  you  do,  Martha,  that  I 
would  be  all  the  more  likely  to  do  it  on  that 
account. 

I  walked  to  the  train  and  found  every  seat 
filled.  I  was  passing  into  what  they  call  a  parlor- 
car,  when  a  conductor  asked  me  if  I  had  a  seat 
ticket,  and  I  was  obliged  to  tell  him  —  no. 

S3 


But  just  then  a  man  who  was  stepping  out 
turned  to  the  conductor  and  said :  "  Let  the  gen- 
tleman have  my  seat.  I  can  not  go  on  this  train. 
I  am  called  back  to  the  city."  He  had  a  tele- 
graph-message in  his  hand. 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,  sir,"  I 
said;  but  I  did  not  know  that  he  had  paid  two 
dollars  for  the  seat,  or  I  should  not  have  taken  it 
so  freely. 

"You  are  quite  welcome  to  the  seat,"  he 
said,  and  he  turned  directly  toward  me  for  the 
first  time.  He  was  more  of  a  city-raised  man 
than  I  am,  and  perhaps  he  was  a  little  older,  but 
we  looked  almost  exactly  alike.  I  knew  that  he 
must  be  Mr.  Jeflfson.  It  was  plain  that  he  did 
not  know  who  I  was,  though,  for  he  seemed  sur- 
prised enough,  and  turned  twice  to  look  at  me 
before  he  passed  back  into  the  waiting-room. 

We  had  a  splendid  ride  to  Buffalo.  I  sat  in 
my  easy-chair  by  a  great,  wide  window  and  looked 
out  at  the  beautiful  Hudson  River,  and  the  moun- 
tains still  covered  with  all  the  colors  of  the 
Autumn  foliage;  and  we  moved  along  so  swiftly 
and  silently  that  I  seemed  to  be  flying  through  a 
new  world.  I  thought  it  was  not  much  like  going 
a-foot  to  South  Norwalk. 

There  were  half  a  dozen  children  in  the  car, 
and  you  can  imagine  that  I  made  friends  with 
them  quickly  with  my  stories  and  nonsensical  talk 
that  all  children  love  so  well. 

When  the  train  began  to  wind  around 
through  Buffalo,  the  passengers  put  on  their 
coats  and  wraps  and  chatted  pleasantly,  glad 
to  be  near  their  journey's  end.  The  children 
came  to  say  good-by,  and  I  kissed  them  all. 

54 


One  of  the  mothers  shook  hands  with  me,  too, 
and  thanked  me  for  making  the  long  day  pass 
so  pleasantly  for  the  little  ones. 

When  the  train  had  come  to  a  stop,  I  step- 
ped off  the  car  and  stood  looking  up  and  down 
the  station,  not  knowing  where  to  go,  when  a. 
gentleman  rushed  up  and  took  me  by  the  hand. 

"Ah,  you  tfid  come! "  said  he.     "  I  got  your 
telegram ;   but  I  knew  you  'd  be  here  if 
you  could.      Got   to   hurry  up   now- 
come    along  —  I  '11    explain    in    a 
minute ! " 

He  hurried  me  along  to  a  car- 
riage, got  in  with  me  and  told 
the  driver  to  go  to  the  Iroquois 
Hotel.  "You  've  saved  the  snap," 
he  said.  "  Fact  is,  Mr.  Jeffson, 
that  boy  of  yours  is  awfully  clever, 
you  know,  and  all  that  —  but  he  't 
just  dead  rattled,  sir;  and  though  he  's  got  the 
business  down  fine,  he  ain't  in  any  shape  to 
understudy  you,  sir  —  not  in  Buffalo,  anyway. 
Wait  till  we  get  to  Erie  to  try  him!" 

I  tried  two  or  three  times  to  tell  him  of  his 
mistake,  but  he  kept  talking  so  fast,  and  the  car- 
riage made  so  much  noise,  that  I  thought  I  would 
explain  it  all  when  we  reached  the  hotel. 

As  soon  as  we  got  into  the  lighted  rooms,  he 
looked  at  me  surprised,  and  exclaimed: 

"  Why,  this  is  n't  Mr.  Jeffson ! " 

"  I  know  it,"  said  I ;   "it  is  Obed  Smith." 

He   kept   looking  at  me  and  saying  he  was 

damned.     He  said  it  fifteen  or  twenty  times.     He 

could  not  seem  to  think  of  anything  else  to  say 

for  some  minutes;  then  he  began  to  ask  questions. 

33 


I  told  him  everything  that  had  happened  to 
me  since  I  left  home;  about  my  adventures  in 
Bridgeport  and  New  York;  about  the  man  who 
had  got  my  clothes;  about  finding  the  ticket  to 
Buffalo  and  meeting  Mr.  Jeffson  on  the  train,  and 
all  the  rest.  You  know  how  I  tell  such  things, 
Martha.  You  know  what  a  dcni  monkey  fool  I 
am.  I  could  n't  sit  still  and  tell  it,  but  I  had  to 
walk  the  floor  and  act  as  though  I  was  going 
through  the  whole  thing  again.  The  man  quit 
damning,  and  laughed  harder  and  harder  as  1 
went  on  with  the  story.  When  I  had  finished,  he 
slapped  me  on  the  back. 

"  Ned  Larrigan  made  the  mistake  of  his 
life,"  said  he,  "  when  he  took  your  clothes  instead 
of  yourself.  You  are  a  born  actor,  Smith." 

You  remember,  Martha,  that  as  much  as  ten 
years  ago  you  found  me  in  the  barn  one  day 
reading  a  play.  It  was  a  play  that  had  for  its 
principal  character  a  jolly,  worthless  old  fellow  — 
as  worthless  as  I  was  myself.  You  found  me,  not 
only  reading  the  play,  but  trying  to  act  this  old 
fellow's  part.  And  that  was  the  firct  and  only 
time  you  ever  upbraided  me  for  my  laziness  and 
neglect  of  the  farm.  Your  words  stung  and 
shamed  me,  and  I  threw  the  book  away,  but 
I  never  forgot  it.  I  seemed  to  love  that  miser- 
able fellow,  somehow  or  another,  and  I  could  n't 
get  him  out  of  my  mind. 

Well,  when  this  man  said  I  was  a  born  actor, 
I  thought  of  that. 

The  man  was  looking  at  me  curiously.  "  If 
you  knew  anything  about  Trip  Twinkle,"  said  he, 
"  I  think  you  could  play  the  part.  You  seem  to 
have  been  a  sort  of  Trip  Twinkle  yourself." 


IJarns  from  Puck. 


My  heart  gave  a  jump  at  these  words,  for  he 
had  named  the  old  vagabond  himself. 

"  I  do  know  it,  by  heart,"  I  said. 

The  man  started  and  said  he  was  damned 
again.  Than  he  got  excited  and  clapped  rny  hat 
on  my  head  and  grabbed  me  by  the  arm  and 
rushed  me  out  of  the  hotel  to  the  theatre.  He 
got  his  actors  there,  too,  and  made  me  go  through 
the  play  with  them.  Then  it  was  time  for  the 
performance  to  begin,  and  we  went  through  it 
again  before  a  big  audience.  I  played  old  Trip 
Twinkle,  and  I  guess  by  what  the  papers  said  the 
next  morning  that  I  played  it  all  right.  It  seems 
that  a  good  many  at  first  wanted  their  money 
back  if  they  could  not  see  Jeffson;  but  by 
the  time  the  play  was  half  over  they  were 
stamping  their  feet  and  clapping  their 
hands  and  calling  for  me  to  come 
before  the  curtain.  The  papers  say 
that  Mr.  Jeffson's  substitute  gave 
them  an  entirely  new  Trip  Twinkle, 
with  a  new  manner  and  a  new  ac- 
cent; but  that  he  was  a  wonderfully 
realistic  actor  and  his  performance 
was  a  triumph.  They  could  learn 
nothing  about  him  and  he  was  not 
to  be  found  after  the  performance. 
It  was  said  that  he  had  fainted  and 
had  left  the  theatre  in  a  very  weak 
state. 

That  was  true;  but  a  big  beefsteak  and 
some  fried  onions  fixed  me  all  right.  I  had  n't 
eaten  anything  since  a  roll  that  I  bought  at  six 
o'clock  in  the  morning. 

Mr.   Jeffson    came    the   next   day,    and   last 

57 


V   fjrnite;    V 

night  he  played  the  part  himself;  but  I  am  en- 
gaged to  stay  with  the  company.  If  I  should 
name  the  salary  I  get,  you  would  not  believe  ativ- 
thing  I  have  told  you;  but  twenty  dollars  goes 
with  this ;  and  next  week  I  will  send  twenty  more. 
And  twenty  every  week  till  April.  If  you  still 
doubt,  you  will  have  to  wait  two  months.  Then 
we  are  to  be  in  New  Haven,  and  I  can  see  you 
and  convince  you  that  your  shiftless,  worthless 
old  husband  tells  the  truth. 

I  've  got  to  work  hard  if  I  'm  going  to  act, 
they  say;  but  I  don't  feel  any  lump  in  my  throat. 
I  think  I  can  work  at  this. 

Write  me  at  Cleveland,  Ohio,  care  of  the 
Weddell  House,  and  tell  me  all  the  news. 

Your  loving  husband, 

OBED  SMITH. 

P.  S. —  I  don't  know  what  we  will  do  by  and 
by,  Martha,  but  for  the  present  take  things  a  little 
easier.  Don't  bother  to  nail  more  boards  on  that 
old  hen-house ;  you  've  had  trouble  enough  with 
that.  Sell  the  hens. 

C.  H.  Augur. 


A     FIN     DE     SIECLE     GENIE; 

OR, 

ARABIAN    NIGHTS    UP    TO    DATE. 


"  'What  will  Monsieur  have?'" 


A     FIN     DE     SIECLE     GENIE; 

OR, 

ARABIAN  NIGHTS  UP  TO  DATE. 


BDUL  K  ART  AH  was  blase.  There  is 
no  use  attempting  to  disguise  the 
fact.  He  was  born  in  Damascus, 
had  been  brought  up  in  Damas- 
cus, and  was  Damascene  to  the 
backbone.  That  alone  was  enough 
to  make  a  man  blase,  for  Damas- 
cus is  one  of  the  oldest  cities  on 
earth.  But  Abdul  Kartah  had  tasted  the  cup  of 
life.  He  had  even  drunk  it  to  the  dregs,  and 
looked  closely  at  the  bottom  to  see  if  there  was 
any  more  left.  He  had  made  up  his  rnind  that 
there  was  not,  when  one  day  at  the  flower  market 
he  saw  Marshmallah. 

She  was  a  flower  girl  from  some  fourteen- 
syllabled  village  near  the  Red  Sea,  and  from  time 
immemorial  flower-girls  have  been  destructive 
of  the  peace  of  gentlemen  of  high  degree.  As 
soon  as  he  had  seen  Marshmallah,  Abdul  was  a 
changed  man.  No  more  did  he  go  to  the  hang- 
ing gardens  at  night,  listen  to  the  low,  lascivious 

6/ 


n, 


tooting  of  the  bulbul,  smoke  hookahs  and  drink 
palm-tree  wine,  which,  you  will  remember,  Xeno- 
phon  says  is  "  exceedingly  headachy."  No  more 
did  he  go  out  for  midnight  rides  on  the  Jerusalem 
mule  tramway.  He  even  gave  up  polo  and  ab- 
jured checkers  at  a  dollar  a  game. 

Abdul  swore  off  generally,    and 
took   to   expending  his  monthly   al- 
lowance of  rupees,  scudi,  piastres, 
or   whatever   they   call   them,    on 
yellow  chrysanthemums  and   hot- 
house violets.     Marshmallah  liked 
it   first-rate,   and   began   to   have 
visions  of  a  sealskin   peplum   (or 
some  such  garment)  and   a  team 
of  donkeys.    But  about  this  time  old 
Kunnel  Kartah,  Abdul's  father,  rose  up 
and  said  in  his  beard  : 
"There  's  something  wrong  with  Ab;   he  's 
reformed." 

So  the  old  man,  not  having  a  grand  vizir  (be- 
cause they  went  out  of  fashion  along  with  califs), 
sent  for  his  private  secretary  and  said  to  him : 

"  Pete," — the  secretary  was  an  Englishman 
and  his  name  was  Peter  Thompson  —  "Pete,  what 
's  up  with  Ab  ?  " 

"  Don't  know,"  said  Pete;  "but  I'll  find  out." 
That  evening  Peter  returned  and  looked  seri- 
ously at  Kunnel  Kartah. 

"  Well,  what  is  it  ? "  said  the  old  man ; 
"  speak  out." 

"  Mashed,"  said  Pe.ter,  sententiously. 
"  Mashed  !      Is  she  rich  ?  " 
"  No.      Flower-girl." 

"  O    Allah ! "     exclaimed     Kunnel     Kartah ; 
62 


r 

^    i)arns  from  Puck,   ^ 

"  this  comes  of  being  a  member  of  an  old  blue- 
blooded  family  that  goes  back  to  the  days  of  the 
Sultan  Sahib.  The  princes  always  were  spooning 
on  the  wrong  girls.  Well,  well ;  get  down  the 
oracle  and  let  's  see  what  the  idiots  did  under  the 
circumstances." 

Peter  went  to  the  book-case  and  got  down 


a  magnificent  unexpurgated  edition  of  "  Arabian 
Nights."  Kunnel  Kartah  thumbed  the  index. 

"Um — um — ah,  here  it  is;  page  327.  Um 
— um  —  they  sent  the  prince  to  a  desert  isle  where 
there  were  no  women,  to  stay  until  he  reached 
the  age  of  discretion.  What  blooming  rot !  " 

"Well,  sir,"  said  Peter;  "Abdul  ought  to 
have  reached  the  age  of  discretion ;  but  it  seems 
that  he  has  n't,  and  I  think  that  foreign  travel 
would  be  a  good  thing  for  him.  He  'd  forget 
this  silly  flower-girl  business." 

"  I    don't    know    but    you  're.    right,"    said 

t>3 


^   fjanks;     ^ 

Kunnel  Kartah.  "We  '11  try  it.  do  down  and 
get  a  ticket  to  Calcutta,  and  we  '11  pack  him  off 
on  to-morrow's  steamer." 

Peter  left  the  house,  and  just  before  dinner 
Abdul  came  in. 

"Well,  sir,"  said  his  father;  "  what  have  you 
to  say  for  yourself?  Fallen  in  love  with  a  flower- 
girl,  eh?  " 

Abdul  started  and  then  salaamed  very  low. 

"  Commander  of  the  Faithful,"  he  began,  but 
his  father  shouted : 

"  Don't  you  commander-of-the-faithful  me, 
you  blockhead  !  I  won't  have  it  !  It  's  out  of 
date ! " 

"  Well,  guv'nor,  Marshmallah  is  a  good  girl, 
and  I  'm  sure  if  you  would  only  see  her,  you  'd 
love  her  yourself." 

"Ah-h-h!  I  don't  want  to  love  her!  Con- 
found your  impudence !  You  go  and  pack  your 
trunk.  You  start  for  India  to-morrow." 

Abdul  knew  that  there  was  no  escape,  and 
he  did  as  he  was  ordered.  He  contrived  to  send 
a  message  to  Marshmallah,  assuring  her  of  his 
eternal  constancy,  and  received  an  answer  beg- 
ging him  not  to  keep  her  waiting  too  long,  as  she 
had  other  advantageous  offers.  He  sailed  away 
the  next  day  on  a  Mediterranean  fruit  steamer 
that  carried  three  passengers.  They  had  not  left 
the  Red  Sea  when  a  big  storm  arose,  and  the 
vessel  was  wrecked  on  a  small  island.  Abdul, 
who  could  swim  like  a  wild  duck,  was  the  only 
person  who  escaped.  He  was  cast  by  a  huge 
wave  upon  a  rock,  where  he  clung  until  the 
tempest  subsided. 


t>4 


^   tjarns  f*o 

When  Abdul  regained  his  senses,  he  mourned 
grievously  over  his  misfortune,  for  the  island  had 
the  appearance  of  being  uninhabited.  He  arose 
and  began  to  move  forward  in  the  hope  of  find- 
ing a  place  more  inviting  than  the  rocks,  when 
he  beheld  a  curious  growth  upon  the  side  of  a 
tree.  It  looked  like  a  box  with  a  crank  protrud- 


ing from  the  side.      He  turned  the  crank  and  a 
bell  rang.     Then  he  heard  a  hollow  voice  saying : 

"Hello!   hello!" 

Abdul  staggered  and  rubbed  his  eyes,  fearing 
that  he  dreamed.      But  again  the  voice  said : 

«  Hello !      What 's  that  ?  " 

"  Sir,"  answered  Abdul ;   "  I   know  not  who 
you  are,  nor  whence  you  speak." 

"  You    blooming    chump !  "    exclaimed     the 
voice ;   "  did  you  never  see  a  telephone  before  ? 
What  are  you  —  shipwrecked  ?  " 
t>5 


^  fjatiks;    V" 

"Sir,  I  am,  indeed,  a  shipwrecked   voyager." 

"  First  turn  to  the  left  beyond  the  rocks  till 
you  come  to  the  gate.  Good-by." 

Abdul,  marvelling  greatly,  set  forward  on  his 
path.  Turning  as  the  voice  had  bidden  him,  he 
came  to  a  gate  covered  with  green  cloth.  He 
knocked,  but  none  answered.  Then  perceiving 
a  small  knob  at  one  side,  he  laid  hold  of  it,  when 
instantly  a  bell  rang  within.  He  started  back  in 
alarm  as  the  gate  opened  and  a  man  appeared. 

"  Holy  ginger ! "  exclaimed  the  man ; 
"  anoth?r  case  of  shipwreck!" 

"Sir,"  said  Abdul;  "I  perceive  that  you 
are  a  person  of  understanding." 

"You  bet  your  boots!  Here,  take  this,  and 
when  you  need  anything,  rub  it." 

And  the  gatekeeper  handed  Abdul  a  gold 
ring. 

"  Now  come  in.  Don't  stand  out  there," 
said  the  gatekeeper. 

Abdul  entered,  and  found  himself  in  the 
court-yard  of  a  spacious  and  magnificent  palace. 
He  looked  about  him,  and  found  that  the  gate- 
keeper had  departed.  He  went  forward,  and 
entered  an  apartment  of  inviting  aspect.  He  sat 
down  and  gazed  about  him.  On  one  side  of  the 
room  was  a  bookcase,  filled  with  the  latest  stories 
of  Kipling,  De  Maupassant,  Stevenson,  Howdls. 
Crawford,  and  other  writers  of  whom  Abdul  had 
never  heard.  On  a  large  table  were  all  the  lead- 
ing magazines  and  weeklies  of  England,  France 
and  the  United  States.  On  another  side  was  a 
buffet  laden  with  California  grapes  and  other 
fruits,  and  with  bottles  of  various  sizes  and  colors. 
Abdul  folded  his  hands  and  rubbed  them  gently 

66 


^    l)arns  from  Puck,  ^ 

in  his  satisfaction.  He  unconsciously  rubbed  the 
ring.  Instantly  he  heard  a  rumbling  sound,  and 
looking  in  the  direction  whence  it  came,  saw  a 
sort  of  car  rise  till  it  was  opposite  a  door.  The 
door  opened,  and  a  man  stepped  forward.  He 
wore  a  swallow-tailed  coat,  and  carried  a  napkin 
over  his  arm.  He  bowed  and  said  : 

"  What  will  Monsieur  have  ?  We  are  your 
servants,  I  and  the  other  slaves  of  the  ring." 

"Allah  is  great,"  said  Abdul;  "my  stomach 
is  uneasy  with  salt  water." 

"  Monsieur  should   try  a  creme   de   menthe." 

'•  A  what  ?  " 

"A  creme  de  menthe —  Paris-green  cock- 
tail." 

The  man  stepped  to  the  buffet  and  returned 
with  a  glass  full  of  something  green,  which  he 
gave  to  Abdul  to  drink. 

"Allah  is  great  —  greater  than  I  thought," 
said  Abdul,  looking  at  the  empty  glass  with  much 
respect.  "And  now,  friend,  who  are  you,  and 
where  am  I  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  know  ?  Why,  where  on  earth 
do  you  come  from?" 

"Even  from  Damascus." 

"  Oh,  that 's  worse  than  Philadelphia.  They 
're  centuries  behind  the  times  in  Damascus." 

"  Not  so.  We  have  a  faro  bank  and  a  mule 
tramway." 

"  Gee-whizz,  man !  Why,  have  you  any 
opium  dens,  or  policy  shops,  or  cable  railways,  or 
electric  rapid-transit  lines,  or  pool  rooms,  or  roof- 
garden  concerts?"  m 

"  I  know  not  what  these  things  may  be." 

"  Well,  then,  you  're  not  in  it ! " 

6  t>7 


^  fjattks,    ^ 

"  Not  in  what  ?  " 

"Oh  —  not  in  the  century!  You're  not 
fin  de  siecle.  Now,  as  for  me,  why,  I  'm  the 
king  of  the  genii." 

"The  what?" 

"  King  of  the  genii.  I  Ye  been  running  this 
island  ever  since  the  old  original  sultan  sent  his 
son  here  to  live  out  of  sight  of  women  till  he  was 
twenty-one.  You  must  have  read  about  it  in  the 
'Arabian  Nights.'" 

'•  Then  that  was  true  ?  " 

"You  bet  your  sweet  life!  Why,  that  's 
Aladdin's  ring  you  're  wearing ! " 

"  But  those  things  told  in  the  tales  of  Sche- 
hezerade  were  all  impossible." 

"Yes,  they  were  then;  but  not  now.  Why, 
with  steam,  electricity  and  cheek,  we  can  do 
things  that  her  royal  nibs  would  n't  have  dared  to 
tell  Schahariar!" 

"Then  you  may  be  able  to  aid  me." 

"I  can.  I  know  what's  the  matter.  You 
are  in  love  with  a  flower-girl  or  something  of  that 
sort,  and  your  sire  has  sent  you  off  to  get  cured. 
Of  course,  you  came  ashore  here.  They  all  do. 
We  get  them.  That  's  what  we  are  here  for. 
We  're  running  a  retreat  for  eligible  sons  who  are 
in  danger  of  contracting  mesalliances." 

"Oh,  but  you  must  not  help  me  that  way. 
I  do  not  wish  to  be  cured  of  my  love.  I  want 
my  Marshmallah." 

'•Well,  you're  going  to  get  your  Marsh- 
mallah. That 's  the  cure." 

"  I  don't  quite  understand." 

"You  will  after  you  've  been  married  two  or 
three  months." 

68 


V 

So  saying,  the  genie  pressed  a  button  and 
a  messenger  appeared.  The  genie  wrote  out  a 
brief  message  and  handed  it  to  the  messenger, 
saying : 

"  Take  your  electro-magnetic  flying-machine 
and  carry  that  message  to  Damascus.  Bring  back 
the  girl,  or  an  answer.  Rush  now !  " 

Three  hours  later  the  answer  came.  It  read 
thus : 

"  Marshmallah  Mul  Kahi,  Sister  of  the 
Nightingale,  Daughter  of  the  Moon,  and  Cousin 
of  the  Date-palm,  presents  her  compliments  to 
Abdul  Kartah  and  begs  leave  to  inform  him  that 
she  has  just  accepted  an  offer  of  £200  per  week 
to  appear  in  London  in  a  new  comic  opera.  The 
manager  guarantees  that  she  shall  marry  a  real 
lord  at  the  end  of  the  season.  She  regrets,  there- 
fore, that  she  must  indefinitely  postpone  her  un- 
certain engagement  with  Abdul  Kartah." 

Abdul  burst  into  tears,  and  handed  the  note 
to  the  genie  to  read. 

"  Phew !  "  exclaimed  he.  "  Young  man,  the 
sex,  as  you  perceive,  is  always  fin  de  sie't'/e." 

"  What  shall  I  do,  then  ?  My  life  is  now 
hopeless ;  but  let  me  at  least  become  fin  de  siecle 
before  I  die." 

"  You  are  sure  that  you  have  nothing  else  to 
live  for  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Abdul,  sadly. 

The  genie  went  to  the  book-shelves  and  got 
down  complete  editions  of  the  works  of  W.  D. 
Howells  and  of  Henry  James. 

"  There,"  said  the  genie ;  "  find  the  soul  in 
these,  and  the  plots  in  those,  and  you  '11  be  the 
fin  de  siedest  man  on  the  face  of  the  earth." 

69 


Abdul   Kartah  withered  with  the   grapes  in 
the  golden  Autumn. 

IV.  J.  Henderson. 


70 


THE    MOSQUITOVILLE    CLUB. 


"  <  Won't  you  have  a  drop  of  whiskey 
in  iff1" 


THE     MOSQUITOV1LLE  CLUB. 


HEN   it  was  first  proposed  to  have 
a  club  in  the  quiet,  sleepy  little 
town  of  Mosquitoville,  the   en- 
tire   population    declared    itself 
greatly  pleased. 

Mosquitoville  was  what  might 
be  termed  at  once  a  religious  and 
a  sporting  town.  It  contained  spots  that  were 
noted  for  their  piety,  and  spots  that  might  be 
characterized  as  directly  the  opposite;  and  it 
may  seem  strange,  at  first,  that  two  elements  so 
heterogeneous  as  the  religious  and  sporting  fac- 
tions of  Mosquitoville  should  meet  upon  com- 
mon ground,  and  declare  the  Mosquitoville  Club 
an  institution  without  which  Mosquitoville  could 
never  hope  to  become  a  centre  of  refinement  and 
social  life. 

The  pious  people  looked  with  favor  upon  the 
club  only  because  it  would  enable  them  to  find  a 
golden  opportunity  for  the  exercise  of  their  efforts 
to  suppress  intemperance.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  people  who  drank  rationally  saw  at  once  a 
splendid  chance  to  labor  with  the  prohibition 
cranks,  and  to  use  their  best  endeavors  to  cause 
them  to  shake  off  the  galling  fetters  of  water,  in 

73 


which  the  demon  Typhoid  lingers  to  lure  men  on 
to  destruction  and  death. 

While  each  element  was  making  preparations 
to  save  the  other,  and,  while  each  was  totally  un- 
aware of  the  fact  that  it  was  about  to  be  rescued 
and  placed  upon  the  pedestal  of  life  and  happi- 
ness, the  Mosquitoville  Club  was  duly  formed  and 
ushered  into  existence.  When  the  people  met  at 
the  club,  it  was  pleasant  to  note  the  pains  with 
which  they  attempted  to  be  polite  and  courteous 
to  each  other;  for  each  one  was  bent  upon  saving 


Y> 


his  brother,  and  unaware  of  his  brother's  intention 
toward  himself. 

"  I  should  think  that  that  whiskey  would  con- 
sume your  insides,"  a  prohibition  light  would 
remark. 

"It  is  really  not  so  apt  to  injure  one  as  that 
cold,  clammy  lemonade  you  are  now  imbibing," 
the  drinker  would  reply.  "Won't  you  have  a 
drop  of  whiskey  in  it,  to  take  the  chilly  edge  off?" 

"Thank  you  very  much,"  the  prohibition  ad- 
vocate would  reply,  "but  I  can  not  consistently 

74 


^   Darns  from  puck,  ^ 

accept.  I  will  put  some  of  my  lemonade  in  your 
whiskey,  if  you  will  have  it." 

"Certainly,"  the  drinker  would  remark.  "To 
show  you  that  I  am  not  at  all  prejudiced  against 
this  impressionistic  beverage,  I  will  accept." 

Thereupon  the  pious  soul  would  put  some 
lemonade  into  the  blue-grass  whiskey  of  the  sin- 
ner, which  the  latter  would  drink  with  an  expres- 
sion of  well  dissembled  delight. 

"  I  tell  you,"  the  drinker  would  remark,  in  a 
soft,  missionary  tone ;  "  temperance  is  a  truly  beau- 
tiful thing,  when  not  carried  to  excess.  But  alcohol 
is  also  a  good  thing  in  its  place.  Like  water,  it 
should  be  taken  with  great  discretion.  I  am  will- 
ing to  admit  that  alcohol  sometimes  ruins  the 
digestion,  and  sometimes  aids  and  strengthens  it; 
occasionally  it  destroys  the  appetite,  and  occa- 
sionally it  improves  it.  If  I  were  stout  and  had 
a  purple  countenance,  I  would  pin  my  faith  to 
water;  if  I  were  sallow  and  cadaverous,  I  would 
shun  water  as  I  would  poison.  You  do  not  look 
over-strong.  Permit  me  to  send  you  a  bottle  of 
blue-grass,  to  be  taken  as  a  tonic.  And,  while 
you  imbibe  it  as  a  medicine,  I  will  agree  to  con- 
fine myself  entirely  to  your  favorite  tipple,  water." 

"  I  could  n't  enter  into  such  an  agreement," 
the  prohibitionist  would  reply;  "but  I  must  admit 
the  fairness  of  your  proposed  bargain.  If  I  could 
keep  you  on  water  for  a  month,  I  might  have  the 
satisfaction  of  knowing  you  as  one  of  my  con- 
verts ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  I  might  take  such  a 
liking  to  the  liquids  which  I  now  avoid,  that  I 
could  not  shake  off  the  desire  for  them.  I  appre- 
ciate the  kind  interest  you  take  in  me;  and  will 
tell  you  that  my  hatred  and  fear  of  rum  are  based 

7S 


V 


upon  the  fact  that  I  had  several  uncles  and  two 
grandfathers  who  lived  and  died  in  the  chains  of 
the  demon." 

"  I  can  feel  for  you,"  the  other  would  say 
softly;  "but  in  my  case  it  was  entirely  different; 
all  my  uncles  and  both  my  grandfathers  were 
strict  prohibitionists;  and  I  have  been  drinking 
all  my  life.  Yet  I  have  never  been  drunk.  You 
can  drink  rationally,  if  you  will,  just  as  I  do; 
and  I  will  suggest  a  plan  upon  which  we  can 
meet  half  way.  We  will  split  a  bottle  of  ginger 
ale  with  a  glass  of  whiskey  in  it.  That  will  be  a 
mixture  of  prohibition  and  tolerance  that  ought 
to  fill  any  fair-minded  man  with  joy." 

The    prohibitionist    concluded    to    meet    his 
fallen  brother  half  way,  in  the  hope  of  being 
able    to    save   him   ultimately,   and,   at   the 
same  time,  let  him  see  that  he  was  lib- 
eral.    So  they  split  the  ginger  ale  and 
whiskey,    and    became    like   brothers, 
each  one  feeling  that  he  was  leading 
the  other  into  the  light,  until  the  sinner 
had  to  lead  the  prohibitionist  home. 

Shortly  after  the  club  was  estab- 
lished, the  factions  would  meet  sepa- 
rately and   apart  to  report   progress. 
At   the   prohibition   headquarters,   an 
ancient  deacon  would  remark: 

"I  saw  Col.  Smith  drink  a  glass  of  ginger 
pop  at  the  club  to-day,  and  his  eye  looked  clear 
and  indicated  a  great  falling  off  in  the  Colonel's 
consumption  of  alcoholic  liquids." 

"Old  Jason  Funk  left  half  his  beer  in    his 
glass,"  another  great  teetotaler  would  say  j   "and 
that  means  a  good  deal  for  old  Jason." 
76 


V    ^orns  from  puck,  V 

And  at  the  other  headquarters  a  broker 
would  say : 

"  I  reasoned  with  elder  Bullfinch  for  three 
hours  to-day,  before  I  could  get  him  to  put  a 
little  claret  in  his  lemonade.  He  seemed  to  like 
it,  and  by  unflagging  perseverance  I  hope  to  get 
him  to  the  point  of  drinking  a  claret-punch  in  a 
week  and  a  straight  whiskey  in  a  month.  The 
elder  is  a  pretty  good  man  at  heart,  and  is  quite 
worthy  of  being  saved  and  raised  from  his  present 
ignominious  position  in  the  community.  The 
associations  of  youth  and  early  training  are*"  the 
causes  of  his  loyalty  to  the  coy  enchantress  that 
steals  away  his  brains  and  digestion,  and  makes  a 
monkey  of  him." 

"Only  a  week  ago,"  a  merchant  would  re- 
mark, "I  felt  a  brotherly  compassion  and  sym- 
pathy for  Jonathan  Squidmire.  I  detected  him 
in  the  act  of  sipping  water  from  a  clam-shell  at 
the  town  pump.  I  remembered  the  services  he 
rendered  at  the  public  school  fire,  and  my  heart 
went  out  to  him,  for  I  felt  that  he  was  too  good 
and  pure  to  wear  the  shackles  of  total  abstinence 
and  thus  be  alienated  from  us.  So  I  gave  the 
boy  who  delivers  the  morning  papers,  twenty-five 
cents  to  go  around  to  his  kitchen  door  and  pour 
half  a  pint  of  whiskey  in  the  pail  of  milk.  I 
knew  this  would  benefit  him,  because  he  has  weak 
lungs.  I  have  had  the  act  repeated  several  times, 
each  time  increasing  the  quantity  of  whiskey.  Old 
Jonathan  is  looking  better  already,  and  I  con- 
fidently believe  that  in  a  fleeting  moon  or  two  he 
will  walk  proud  and  erect  in  the  light  of  day  and 
be  one  of  us  in  heart  and  soul." 

And  so  the  Mosquitoville  Club  continued  to 
77 


V 

flourish.  Each  side  struggled  for  supremacy,  and 
never  allowed  a  chance  for  victory  to  slip. 

"  If  you  will  take  lemonade  instead  of 
brandy,"  a  prohibitionist  would  say  to  a  drinking 
man,  "  I  '11  sell  you  that  five-hundred  dollar  lot  on 
Chestnut  Street  for  four  hundred  and  fifty." 

And  the  drinking  man  would  reply : 

"If  you  will  try  a  good  stiff  absinthe  cock- 
tail instead  of  that  insufferable  mead  you  have 
before  you,  I  will  drink  five  glasses  of  water  and 
give  you  a  receipt  for  the  money  you  owe  me 
for  a  cord  of  wood." 

The  grand  result  of  this  controversy  was 
that  at  the  end  of  six  months  all  hands  were 
converted.  The  prohibition  army  had  made 
total  abstainers  of  all  the  drinkers,  and  the 
drinking  men  had  triumphed  over  the  scruples 
of  the  teetotalers,  until  each  of  the  latter  had 
become  a  rational  drinker.  In  other  words,  the 
two  factions  had  simply  changed  places.  And, 
strange  as  this  may  seem,  it  only  resulted  in 
another  war  that  was  even  more  warmly  con- 
tested than  the  first.  These  contests  were  face- 
tiously termed  Mosquitoville's  first  and  second 
Punic  wars.  When  the  drinking  people  had 
stopped  drinking  entirely,  they  began  to  feel 
the  good  effects  of  their  move  at  once.  They 
lost  superfluous  flesh,  had  better  appetites,  and 
felt  so  rejuvenated  that  they  at  once  tried  to  con- 
vert the  ex-prohibition  party  to  its  former  prin- 
ciples out  of  pure  gratitude.  And  the  ex-prohi- 
bition people  felt  so  happy  and  hilarious  in  their 
cups,  that  they  generously  did  all  in  their  power 
to  bring  the  ex-drinkers  around  to  their  way  of 
thinking,  that  they  might  enjoy  the  pleasures  of 


I)arns  from 


the    flowing    bowl    together    and    be   like   a   big 
family  of  brothers. 

The  club  is  still  in  a  prosperous,  healthy 
condition.  But,  despite  the  noblest  and  most 
self-sacrificing  efforts  of  the  others,  the  hard 


drinkers,  who  were  its  charter  members,  can  not 
be  coaxed  to  take  a  drink  by  those  who  at  the 
outset  would  sip  nothing  stronger  than  stickless 
drug-store  soda-water.  And  the  people  who  at 
the  beginning  did  their  best  to  make  the  total 
abstainers  learn  the  subtle  virtue  of  a  cocktail  are 
now  struggling  in  vain  to  induce  them  to  sign  the 
pledge,  and  to  wear  the  sky-blue  ribbon  of  prohi- 
bition. Thus  did  the  Brandyites  and  the  Sodaites 
go  to  war,  and  both  used  their  best  art  for  vic- 
tory, and  both  were  victorious,  having  gained  the 
triumph  for  which  they  set  out.  And  they  that 
were  the  Brandyites  are  now  the  Sodaites ;  and 
they  that  were  the  Sodaites  are  now  the  Brandy- 
ites ;  and  all  is  as  merry  as  a  marriage-bell.  Opin- 
ions are  divided  as  to  which  party  is  the  real 

79 


gainer.  But  while  the  new  temperance  men  are 
said  to  take  a  drink  at  home  upon  the  sly,  it  is 
also  stated,  and,  perhaps,  with  equal  truth,  that 
the  new  drinking  men  are  so  far  beyond  reforma- 
tion that  they  can  not  pass  an  urban  sample  room 
unless  they  are  on  an  elevated  train. 

Jt.  K.   Mutikittrick. 


So 


THE     STORY     OF     WILLIAM. 


THE    STORY     OF    WILLIAM. 


is  one  of  a  group  of  boys 
who  have  assembled  in  the 
outer  office  of  Messrs.  Peters 
£  Plunkett,  wholesale  gro- 
cers, in  answer  to  an  adver- 
tisement for  an  office-boy, 
"bright  and  of  good  habits." 
Eight  boys  are  here  to  be 
chosen  from,  and  seven  of 
them  are  far  more  generously 
endowed  than  William  with  the 
requisite  qualification  of  brilliancy, 
if  not  of  rectitude.  To  be  frank, 
William  is  stupid.  He  has  a  chunky  little  body, 
giving  rich  promise  of  mature  amplification,  red 
hair  and  cheeks,  light-colored  eyes,  and  lashes 
still  lighter.  He  is  the  least  promising  of  the 
applicants. 

The  latter  part  of  the  firm  enters  briskly  to 
make  the  selection ;  he  runs  his  eye  over  the 
group,  allows  it  to  rest  upon  a  neat-looking  youth, 
whose  age  he  inquires. 

"I  s'pose  if  you  get  the  job,  you  '11  expect  to 
be  made  one  of  the  firm  in  a  couple  of  weeks," 
says  Mr.  Plunkett,  in  that  bantering  and  grimly 

7  83 


humorous  way  that  he  knows  boys  can  not  ap- 
preciate. 

The  lad  is  giving  utterance  to  an  awkward 
but  sincere  disclaimer,  when  a  laugh  shatters  the 
silence  in  William's  vicinity.  It  is  not  the  abash- 
ed, uneasy,  placative  chuckle  of  awed  juvenility, 
but  a  sustained,  appreciative  laugh  of  inimitable 
fluency,  apparently  expressing  rare  discernment 
and  ready  sympathy,  the  kind  of  laugh  we  so 
frequently  miss  after  saying  one  of  our  best  things. 
Its  effect  on  Plunkett  is  electrical.  As  the  last 
grateful  cadence  expires,  he  dismisses  the  seven 
expectants,  and  consummates  a  business  alliance 

with  William. 

* 
*  * 

Plunkett  had  always  been  a  facetious  man, 
and,  thenceforth,  encouraged  by  William,  he  de- 
veloped amazingly.  The  spontaneous  expressions 
of  approval  which  his  sallies  invariably  elicited, 
not  only  explained  what  had  at  times  perplexed 
Plunkett,  namely,  the  precise  nature  of  his  superi- 
ority to  the  general  run  of  humanity,  but  they 
exalted  William  in  his  estimation  as  a  youth  pos- 
sessing mental  fibre  of  unusual  excellence. 

Plunkett  treated  William  with  marked  con- 
sideration in  their  business  intercourse,  and  to  his 
commercial  brethren  spoke  of  his  office-boy  as  a 
prodigy.  The  environments  of  the  grocery  trade 
may  not  seem  adapted  to  the  development  of  a 
humorous  vein ;  but  Plunkett  said  a  surprising 
number  of  funny  things  during  the  day,  and  Wil- 
liam's tuneful  and  sympathetic  laughter  thereat 
was  always  satisfying.  He  never  laughed  at  the 
wrong  time;  he  knew  what  to  expect  when 


^    ijarns  from 

Plunkett  relaxed  his  facial  rigidity,  crossed  his 
hands  leisurely  over  his  stomach,  and  looked 
down  at  him  in  an  unctuous,  fatherly  sort  of  way, 
expressing  perfect  confidence  in  William's  risible 
complaisance. 

William's  laugh  never  grated;  true,  you 
could  analyze  it  as  a  contortion  of  the  labial 
muscles,  a  rolling  of  the  eyes,  and  a  sonorous  and 
rhythmically  interrupted  expulsion  of  air  from  the 
lungs;  but  that  gives  no  idea  of  the  subtle  and 
elusive  sympathy,  the  expression  of  keen  enjoy- 
ment that  enlivened  its  every  intonation,  and 
justified  Plunkett's  self-confessed  belief  in  his  own 
genius. 

Being  a  stupid  boy,  William  never  made  any 
personal  attempts  at  humor,  and  thus  retained  his 
employer's  respect.  His  remarks  were  few,  and 
as  brief  as  was  consistent  with  a  reasonably  intel- 
ligent exposure  of  the  exigencies  of  the  moment. 
Consequently,  Plunkett  said:  "There  is  a  deep 
fellow  for  you." 


Parkers  was  head  book-keeper,  and  main- 
tained inimical  relations  with  William  until  the 
day  he  utilized  him  for  the  delivery  of  a  message, 
adjuring  him,  under  penalty  of  acquiring  a  suc- 
cessor, "don't  let  the  grass  grow  under  your 
heels."  William's  violent  and  uncontrollable  mirth, 
provoked  by  this  Ion  mot,  brought  out  Plunkett 
from  the  inner  office,  who  aggravated  the  parox- 
ysm by  a  timely  and  characteristic  jest;  and  Wil- 
liam departed  upon  his  errand  in  ebullient  enjoy- 
ment of  the  privilege  that  marks  man's  superiority 
over  the  beasts  of  the  field,  or  any  beasts,  for  that 
85 


matter.  Parkers  and  Plunkett  were  wonderfully 
drawn  together  by  this  episode;  each  wanted  to 
grasp  the  other's  hand,  but  neither  braved  the 
initiative.  Parkers  said :  "  Mighty  bright  boy, 
that;"  and  Plunkett  said:  "He  is  that;  help 
him  along,  here  in  the  office,  whenever  you  can, 

Parkers." 

* 
*  * 

Parkers's  sudden  discovery  of  himself  as  a 
humorist  received  daily  confirmation  from  William. 
True,  the  remark  above  quoted  was  his  only  real 
pleasantry;  but,  then,  he  was  busy  with  columns 
of  figures  all  day,  and  had  no  leisure  to  study  the 
columns  of  comic  journals  and  try  to  be  original ; 
and,  besides,  he  ascertained  that  frequent  iteration 
did  not  impair  the  efficiency  of  his  jest,  for  Wil- 
liam's enjoyment  of  the  same  was  always  plenary. 
So  William  discharged  many  errands  whose  sole 
animus  was  Parkers's  desire  to  revel  in  that  in- 
sidious laugh.  In  return,  he  educated  William, 
who,  though  moderate  in  his  absorption  of 
business  principles,  was  patient,  and  possessed  a 
retentive  mind.  William  was  never  loquacious, 
never  boisterous,  and  never  called  "  Bill." 


As  the  years  passed  on,  William  laughed 
his  way  to  success.  He  labored  at  Parkers's 
ledgers  and  accounts  with  zealous  rigor,  until  he 
could  easily  distinguish  an  invoice  from  a  bill  of 
lading.  Plunkett  had  him  invited  to  banquets, 
and  soon  Plunkett  was  known  as  a  witty  after- 
dinner  speaker.  In  due  time  he  married  Plunkett's 


V    $ams  from  puck,   ^f 

daughter.      To-day  he  is  middle-aged,  portly,  and 
a  member  of  the  firm.      He   has   a   comfortable 
home,  with  the  most  elegant  red-plush  furniture  in 
the  parlor,  the  doors  of  which 
are  draped  with  costly  yellow 
portieres,   while   the  walls 
are  decorated  with  some 
lovely     landscapes     re- 
ceived    from     the     tea 
company  in  San  Fran- 
cisco; also  with  an  oil 
painting  for  which  Wil- 
liam reverently  confess- 
es to  have  paid  an  en- 
ormous figure.  He  usually 
wears  a  Prince  Albert  coat 
and    a    white    lawn    tie,    as 
these   are  his  ideals  of  per- 
sonal  elegance;    and,  altogether,  he  has  nothing 
to  wish  for. 

His  laugh  has  mellowed  and  matured  some- 
what, but  is  as  readily  excited  as  ever,  because  it 
is  due  to  a  nervous  affection.  When  he  laughs 
now,  his  eyes  show  a  mystical  light  that  seems  to 
imply  some  secret  enjoyment  of  your  joke,  some 
point  that  only  he  could  discover,  which  convinces 
you  that  you  are  a  sly  one.  In  reality,  William 
is  wondering  why  he  laughs. 


The  moral  of  this  little  tale  is  plain :   Let  us 
cultivate  a  strong  and  obvious  disposition  to  spon- 
taneous risibility.      Observe  my  friend,  as  I  favor 
him   with   one   of  my  choice   witticisms.      If  his 
87 


T*   $anks;    "V 

friendship  is  sincere,  and  he  has  no  ulterior  design 
upon  me  or  my  purse,  he  greets  it  with  a  look  of 
jaded  apathy,  or,  perchance,  emits  three  dry, 
abbreviated  chuckles  which  are  merged  into  an 
elongated  "Y-e-s"with  falling  in- 
flection, that  says  :  "  Thought  of 
the  same  thing,  myself,  thousand 
times,  I  assure  you;  but  never 
thought  it  worth  saying." 

If,  however,  he  has  a  point 
to  make  with   me,  he  laughs  a 
halting,  constrained,  chest  laugh 
that  hints  at  a  secret  and  gnawing 
sorrow,  —  and  if  prone  to  dissimula- 
tion, he  contorts  his  face  fearfully,  and  shakes  his 
sides  with  palpable  inconvenience. 

Let  us  discard  this  amateur  and  mechanical 
cachinnation  that  must  irritate  our  friends,  and 
cultivate  that  hearty,  sympathetic,  soulful  laugh 
that  brought  William  his  reward,  striving  to 
mingle  delicately  with  it  a  mute  confession  of 
our  own  inability  to  say  anything  half  so  witty 
as  that  which  engages  us. 

H.  L.    Wilson. 


88 


HIS     LUCKY    NIGHT. 


'•'A   stylishly  appointed  coupe  drew 
up  in  front  of  the  portico." 


HIS    LUCKY   NIGHT. 


*/'^  is  not  many  months  since  "Jimmy" 
if        Hickey,  as  we  all  used  to  call  him 
in  his  less  palmy  days,  got  his  first 

•  real  start  in  life. 

•  Now,   he    can   wear    sealskin 
i  I         suspenders  with  diamond  buckles, 
1^       if  he   wants   to;    then,    the   white 

lawn  ties  which  encircled  his  throat 
every  evening  were  a  serious  drain 
on  his  income. 

At  that  time  Jimmy  was  a  light- 
hearted  and  light-waisted  young  So- 
ciety   Man,   and    spent    most    of   his 
leisure    moments   in   fluttering    around 
the    outskirts    of   the    Four    Hundred, 
without,   however,   becoming   seriously 
affected    by    the    sycophantic    taint    of 
McAllisterism. 

He  was  slender  and  graceful  in  figure.  Thin 
enough  to  slip  through  the  stage  door,  and  broad 
enough  to  attract  the  attention  of  the  chorus  girls 
when  he  sat  in  the  front  row;  tall  enough,  just 
about,  to  enable  him  to  keep  his  chin  above 
water;  and  short  enough  to  be  obliged  to  stand 
off  his  wash-lady,  occasionally. 

9' 


For  his  mode  of  living  was  a  little  pre- 
carious, as  he  depended  largely  on  the  "buns"  lie 
was  able  to  pick  up  in  "The  Street." 

But  Jimmy's  lucky  star  was  burning  with 
ten-million-candle  power  on  the  evening  he  went 
to  the  Horse  Show. 

He  had  put  in  his  time  with  his  back  to  the 
arena,  looking  at  the  girls  in  the  boxes.  At  half 
past  eleven,  Fashion  began  to  gather  up  her  skirts 
and  shake  the  tan  bark  from  off  her  feet,  and 
Jimmy  began  to  lose  his  interest  in  the  show. 

So  he  followed  the  crowd  out  into  the  lobby, 
and  laying  his  check  on  the  shelf  in  front  of  the 
coat-room  window,  called  out  to  the  attendant  in 
a  jocular  tone  of  voice:  "A  fur-lined  overcoat, 
please." 

"Fur-lined  overcoat,  sir?  Here  you  are,  sir: 
Number  99,"  answered  the  man,  briskly,  as  he 
handed  Jimmy  a  royally  splendid  garment. 

Now,  Jimmy's  check  was  number  66,  and  he 
saw  in  a  moment  that  the  man  had  read  the 
figures  upside-down. 

His  first  impulse  was  to  rectify  the  mistake, 
and  claim  his  more  modest  box-coat ;  but  on 
second  thoughts  he  decided  to  take  advantage  of 
the  error,  and  astonish  the  boys  at  the  club  with 
his  new  magnificence. 

The  return  of  the  borrowed  coat  in  the 
morning  would  straighten  matters  out.  He  was 
an  expert  on  loans  of  every  description,  and  con- 
sidered this  a  "  call  loan ; "  at  least  he  knew  he 
had  the  call. 

Then  he  sauntered  leisurely  through  the  ves- 
tibule, and  allowed  the  apparel  to  proclaim  the 
man,  for,  as  he  reached  the  sidewalk  a  uniformed 


V   IJarns  fa™  P«<k»  T" 

functionary  touched  his  cap  respectfully  and  in- 
quired the  number  of  his  carriage. 

"Call  411;"  said  Jimmy,  and  chuckled  as 
he  thought  of  the  way  the  policeman  and  chorus 
of  hangers  on  would  make  the  night  hideous  in 
the  effort  to  discover  his  mythical  conveyance. 

But  the  shouts  had  scarcely  reached  the  ears 
of  Diana  On  The  Tower  before  a  stylishly  ap- 
pointed coupe  drew  up  in  front  of  the  portico, 
and  there  was  nothing  for  Jimmy  to  do  but  press 
a  coin  (which  he  had  found  in  the  pocket  of  the 
ulster)  into  the  hand  of  the  nearest  loafer  and  step 
inside  the  carriage.  The  coachman  who  had  been 
trying  to  control  his  excited  team  let  them  have 
their  heads  as  soon  as  he  heard  the  door  slam, 
and  Jimmy  found  that  he  had  effected  a  second 
loan. 

"Well,  I  hope  this  carriage  does  n't  belong 
to  the  same  man  as  the  fur-lined  overcoat ;  the 
poor  beggar  will  catch  his  death  of  cold  walking 
home  in  a  dress-suit,"  he  commented  thoughtfully. 

As  he  spoke,  he  pushed  his  hand  down  into 
the  pocket  of  the  ulster.  It  touched  a  cold,  hard 
substance,  which  his  instinct  told  him  was  a  silver 
pocket-flask  filled  with  brandy.  After  he  had 
proved  the  correctness  of  this  impression,  he  also 
discovered  a  pair  of  gloves,  two  cigars  and  some 
small  change.  He  lit  one  of  the  cigars  and  found 
it  equal  to  those  Jack  Lever  sometimes  gave  him. 

He  thought  with  a  little  amusement  of  the 
simple-mindedness  of  a  man  who  could  trust  such 
things  as  brandy,  cigars  and  money  within  the 
reach  of  the  coat-room  people.  "  Confound  him ! 
He  had  no  business  to  throw  temptation  into  the 
way  of  men  of  that  class  of  life.  But  this  will 

93 


^   $anks;    V 

teach  him  a  lesson.  By  Jove,  he  '11  be  more 
careful,  next  time!" 

But  Jimmy's  moral  reflections  were  broken 
in  upon  by  the  carriage,  which  had  turned  the 
corner,  coming  to  a  stop  before  a  four-story  house 
in  the  centre  of  the  block. 

"  I  '11  get  out  and  run  up  the  steps  until  the 
coachman  drives  away,"  thought  he ;  "  and  then 
I  '11  slide  around  to  the  club."  But  this  strata- 
gem was  not  fated  to  be  a  success,  for  as  he 
entered  the  vestibule  he  heard  footsteps  behind 
him,  and  on  turning  around  confronted  an  old 
gentleman,  who  exclaimed:  "Why,  Frank,  my 
boy,  you  're  home  early  to  night;  oh,  I  beg  your 
pardon,  sir ;  I  thought  it  was  my  son  ! " 

"  I  wanted  to  see  Mr.  John  Newberry,"  said 
Jimmy,  readily;  "but  you  are  not  he." 

"No;  Newberry  lives  on  53d  Street;  this 
is  52d." 

"  Then  my  coachman  must  have  made  a 
mistake  in  the  street;  and  now  he  has  driven 
off,  as  I  told  him  he  need  n't  wait  for  me.  I> 
Mr.  Newberry's  number  the  same  as  this?" 

"H'm!  I  don't  recollect.  Just  step  inside 
and  I  will  look  it  up  in  my  address  book,"  said 
the  old  gentleman,  holding  the  door  open. 

"  It  seems  a  strange  hour  to  call  on  a  man," 
remarked  Jimmy,  as  he  followed  his  host  through 
the  hall  into  the  library  and  selected  an  easy- 
chair;  "but  I  have  an  appointment  to  meet  Mr. 
Newberry  in  regard  to  some  Granger  Car  Trust 
Stock.  He  leaves  for  the  West  early  in  the 
morning,  and  as  he  said  he  was  going  to  a  big 
banquet  this  evening,  he  said  he  would  see  me 
any  time  after  twelve  o'clock." 

9-t 


^    tyarns  from  Puck,   ^ 

Granger  Car  Trust  had  been  in  Jimmy's 
head  all  day,  and  that  was  the  reason  he  came 
to  speak  of  it.  It  was  a  stock  which  had  never 
paid  any  dividends,  and  had  consequently  sold 
at  a  low  figure  for  a  number  of  years.  Now, 
Jimmy  had  discovered  that  the  President  of  one 
of  the  big  Western  roads,  with  which  the  Car 
Trust  had  a  very  disadvantageous  contract,  had 
secretly  acquired  a  controlling  interest  in  its  stock. 
And  the  inference  which  Jimmy's  Wall  Street 
training  enabled  him  to  draw  from  this  move  was 
that  before  many  moons  the  boot  would  be  on 
the  other  leg,  and  the  Car  Trust  would  get  the 
cream  of  the  road's  earnings,  and  the  stock- 
holders of  the  Great  Divide  &  South  Western 
would  get  — 

"Naught  but  wishes,  hopes  and  promises; 
The  currency  of  idiots." 

He  had  been  skirmishing  around  all  day, 
trying  to  get  hold  of  some  Car  Trust  stock  before 
his  tip  became  public  property ;  and  as  he  had 
spoken  at  random,  for  the  purpose  of  saying  some- 
thing and  to  kill  time,  his  pet  hobby  had  popped 
out  of  his  mouth  before  he  knew  it. 

At  the  mention  of  this  security,  his  host 
looked  up  from  the  book  where  he  was  engaged 
in  searching  for  Mr.  Newberry's  address. 

"  I  have  a  block  of  that  stock  myself.  What 
do  you  want  to  do  in  it?"  he  asked. 

"Sell  it!"  answered  Jimmy,  promptly,  scent- 
ing trade  and  approaching  it  backward  in  the 
regulation  Stock  Exchange  way. 

"  I  'd  like  to  sell  mine,  too,  if  I  could  get 
anything  for  it,"  sighed  the  old  gentleman. 

9S 


"  I  think  Mr.  Newberry  wants  more  than  I 
have;  perhaps  I  can  sell  yours  also." 

"I  hold  a  thousand  shares,  and  I  '11  give 
you  a  liberal  commission  if  you  can  get  twenty 
for  them." 

"  I  never  work  for  commissions  —  and  I  'm 
offering  mine  for  less  money,"  said  Jimmy,  grandly; 
"but  I  '11  buy  your  stock  at  fifteen,  and  take  my 
chances  of  squeezing  a  couple  of  points  out  of  it." 

"  I  guess  I  '11  let  you  have  it,"  said  the  old 
gentleman;  "that  's  the  best  bid  I  Ve  ever  had 
on  it." 

"Got  it  here?"  asked  Jimmy;  "I  want  to 
turn  it  over  to  Newberry  to-night." 

"Yes;  it  's  here  in  my  safe." 

"All  right;  I  '11  give  you  a  check  on  my 
private  account  in  the  Knickerbocker  Trust  Co.," 
said  Jimmy,  as  he  pulled  out  a  little  pocket  check- 
book which  represented  an  actual  balance  of 
$79.48. 


In  his  eagerness  to  get  rid  of  a  dubious 
stock  at  a  fair  profit,  the  old  gentleman  never 
thought  of  requesting  a  certified  check.  No  one 


^    J)arns  from  puck,  ^ 

could  be  expected  to  get  his  check  certified  at 
midnight;  and,  besides,  a  man  who  owned  such 
a  swell  turnout,  and  wore  such  expensive  clothes, 
and  spoke  so  coolly  of  drawing  on  his  private 
bank  account  for  $15,000,  was  good  enough 
for  him. 

And  the  fact  that  Jimmy  knew  Mr.  New- 
berry,  stamped  him  as  a  man  of  means. 

Mr.  Newberry's  friends  were  of  the  pluto- 
cratic class.  An  acquaintance  with  him  was 
better  than  Bradstreet's  highest  rating. 

So    Jimmy    took    the    coveted    stock,    and 


made  a  hurried  exit  on  the  plea  that  he  was 
keeping  the  billionaire  waiting. 

As  Jimmy  lay  awake  that  night,  thinking 
of  some  means  of  making  his  check  good,  a 
new  difficulty  confronted  him. 

If  "  Frank"  and  his  father  should  meet, 
they  might  compare  notes  about  the  loss  of  the 

97 


carriage  and  the  sale  of  the  stock,  with  disas- 
trous results. 

But  Frank  had  attached  no  importance  to 
his  failure  to  find  his  carriage.  To  him  it  was 
only  one  of  the  queer  events  of  a  very  hazy  even- 
ing. He  did  not  return  home  until  five  o'clock, 
and  when  he  arose  at  noon,  the  next  day,  his 
father  had  long  since  left  the  house. 

The  next  morning,  vague  rumors  about 
Granger  Car  Trust  began  to  circulate  through  the 
Street. 

It  was  whispered  that  there  was  "a  hen  on," 
and  under  the  eager  bidding  of  a  horde  of  buyers 
the  price  jumped  up  to  forty. 


So  Jimmy  had  no  trouble  in  making  a  loan 
to  take  care  of  his  check. 

This  was  Jimmy's  first  ten-strike. 

He  eventually  disposed  of  his  stock  at   one 


If   jparas  from  puck.   V 

hundred  and  five,  and  since  then  his  judicious 
speculations  have  increased  his  pile,  until  he  has 
become  quite  a  capitalist. 

Now,  I  don't  envy  Jimmy  his  good  luck,  but 
when  I  hear  him  holding  himself  up  as  a  brilliant 
example  of  the  value  of  honest  industry  and  plod- 
ding economy,  I  am  inclined  to  call  him  down 
and  to  remind  him  that  he  is  conducting  his  part 
of  the  .conversation  through  his  new  and  always 
glossy  silk  hat. 

Harry  Romaine. 


99 


FOILED   AGAIN; 

OR, 

THE     BANKER'S     VENGEANCE. 


"'/  blush  to  confess  //,'   answered 
the  banker,   bursting  into  tears." 


FOILED     AGAIN; 

OR, 

THE      BANKER'S     VENGEANCE. 


IR,  may  I  trespass  upon  your  time 
for  a  few  moments?"  said  the 
smug  gentleman  in  a  white 
necktie  to  the  whole-souled 
Bank  President,  Mr.  Thyme 
Locke. 

"What   is   it?"    asked    Mr. 
Locke,  pausing  for  a  moment  in 
his  occupation  of  trying  to  see  how 
the   cashier  had   done   it.      "Are  you 
from    Montreal?" 

"  No,"  answered  the  other.  "  I  am  here  on 
a  charitable  errand." 

"  Go  ahead,"  said  Mr.  Locke,  lighting  a  cigar. 
"  I   represent,  this  morning,  the  United  Em- 
ployment Furnishing  Aid  and  Relief  Society." 

"  Good  name ! "  said  Mr.  Locke,  dryly ; 
"what  is  it  for?" 

"To  provide  fitting  homes  and  suitable  labor 
for  deserving  and  indigent  females  of  temperate 
habits." 

103 


"  Did  Mr.  Evarts  draw  up  your  constitution 
and  by-laws?"  asked  the  Banker,  meditatively. 

"No." 

"Well,  go  ahead.     What  of  it  ?" 

"We  should  be  glad  to  offer  you  the  op- 
portunity of  making  such  fitting  contribution  to 
our  society  as  would  seem  to  you — " 

"Ah!  yes;  I  see.  But  what  do  you  spend 
it  for?" 

"For  the  furtherance  of  the  object  of — " 

"Yes,  yes.  Well,  I  believe  in  doing  things 
in  the  easiest  way.  I  don't  care  for  middle- 
men where  I  can  get  rid  of  them.  I  '11  tell  you 
what  I  '11  do.  You  send  around  one  of  the  — 
the  objects,  —  the  raw  material,  so  to  speak,  — 
and  I.  '11  make  a  contribution  in  kind.  Under- 
stand ?  " 

104 


^    yarns  from  puck,  ^ 

"  Not  precisely." 

"Send  one  of  the  indigent  'females'  —  a 
woman,  if  you  can  —  and  I  '11  see  that  she  gets 
a  place.  Do  you  get  me  ?  " 

"Ah!    yes." 

"  Good-morning." 

"  Good-morning." 

"Send  at  two-thirty,  sharp." 

"Yes,  Mr.  Locke." 

Just  as  the  hands  of  the  bank  clock  reached 
fifteen  minutes  past  three,  a  timid  knock  was 


heard  upon  the  ground  glass  behind  which  the 
banker  was  still  engaged  upon  the  pretty  puzzle 
which  the  Canadian  had  left  him. 

Mr.  Locke  had  just  discovered  another  miss- 


ing  five  thousand  dollars,  and  so  he  looked  up 
sharply,  and  said  abruptly : 

"Come!" 

The  door  opened  creepingly  and  a  figure  in 
black  inserted  itself. 

"Who  are  you,  Madam?"  asked  the  Pre- 
sident. 

"I  'm  the  lady  from  the  United  Emp — " 

"Ah!     Sit  down." 

"Thank  you,  sir." 

"  Well,  what  can  you  do  ?  " 

"All  kinds  of  work,  sir." 

"Widow?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"What  did  he  die  of?" 

"The  doctor  said  he  could  n't  digest  his 
food." 

"  Indeed !  Why  did  n't  you  come  at  two- 
thirty?" 

"I  —  was  a  little  late,  sir.   I  met  a  friend — " 

"Well,  no  matter.  My  wife  needs  a  woman 
to  do  general  work  about  the  house,  and  I  thought 
perhaps  you  might  do." 

"Thank  you,  sir.   You  're  very  kind,  I  'm  sure." 

"  Can  you  cook  ?  " 

"  Plain  cooking  —  yes,  sir." 

"  Wash  ?  " 

"  Do  you  expect  the  cook  to  do  the 
washing  ?  " 

"  Well,  we  have  at  times." 

"  Do  you  have  stationary  tubs  ?  " 

"I  think  so — yes.  Why,  of  course!  Oh, 
yes!  We  must,  I  think." 

"  Would  you  expect  to  put  out  the  collars 
and  cuffs?" 

706 


^    IJarns  from  puck,   ^ 

"  I  suppose  we  could." 

"  Do  you  have  a  man  to  attend  to  the 
furnace  ?  " 

"Ah,  —  yes!      Oh,  yes!" 

"Would  I  have  my  Sundays  and  Thurs- 
days ?  " 

"  Quite  so.      Why,  to  be  sure !      Oh,  yes !  " 

"  Do  you  have  early  dinner,  Sunday  ?  " 
•   "  Never  have;  —  but  we  could — easily." 

"  Other  girls  kept  ?  " 

"A  whole  regiment  of  'em." 

"  Do  you  sift  your  ashes  ?  " 

"No;   I  don't.      Must  we?" 

"  Can  I  wear  bangs  ?  " 

"We  adore  them!      Pray,  do." 

"  Do  you  expect  us  to  wear  caps  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no !      Not  unless  you  prefer." 

"  Well,  it  seems  like  a  nice  place." 

"  Delighted  that  you  're  pleased ! " 

"  How  many  in  the  family?" 

"  Oh  —  several !" 

"  Any  children  ?  " 

"  A  few,  I  think." 

"  And  where  is  it  ?  " 

"  About  a  half-mile  out  of  town." 

"  In  the  country  ! / /" 

"  I  blush  to  confess  it,"  answered  the  banker, 
bursting  into  tears. 

The  door  closed  with  a  bang,  and  a  moment 
later  the  unhappy  man  sank  fainting  to  the  floor. 

When  he  had  finished  the  examination  of  the 
cashier's  accounts,  Mr.  Locke  called  for  the  stock- 
book,  and  with  nervous  eagerness  conveyed  a 
large  number  of  shares  to  the  United  Employ- 
ment Furnishing  Aid  and  Relief  Society.  The 


certificates    were     transferred     and    accepted    the 
same  day. 

The  exuberant  gratitude  of  the  society  was, 
however,  somewhat  chilled  upon  the  following 
day,  when  the  bank  went  down  with  a  sickening 
crash. 

At  last  accounts  the  society  was  meeting 
assessments  upon  the  stock. 

T.  J. 


108 


VAN     GIBBER     AND    THE 
STREET-CAR. 


"  With  a  steel-like  grip  he  caught 
the  loafer  and  flung  him  to  the  fur- 
ther end  of  the  car." 

1 IO 


VAN    GIBBER    AND    THE    STREET-CAR. 


'AN  GIBBER  was  terribly  bored.  He 
had  been  kept  in  town  two  weeks 
after  the  season  had  opened  and 
everybody  worth  knowing  had  left  for 
the  seaside  or  Europe,  by  a  plaguy 
law  suit  involving  a  paltry  $250,000. 
Time  and  again  he  had  told  his  lawyer 
not  to  bother  with  any  financial  difference  of  less 
than  $500,000;  but  the  attorney,  who  was  one 
of  the  old  school  (he  was  Van  Schaick,  and  a 
Van  Twiller  oh  his  mother's  side),  and  had  been 
Van  Gibber's  father's  and  Van  Gibber's  grand- 
father's attorney  and  agent,  had  flown  into  a  pro- 
fessional fury  at  the  young  man,  and  talked  to 
him  like  a  Dutch  uncle  (literally)  about  his  loose 
business  habits,  till  Van,  rather  than  aggravate 
the  testy  old  fellow,  agreed  to  remain  in  town 
after  June  8th,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life. 

He  was  terribly  ashamed  of  the  plebeian 
act,  however,  so  much  so  that  his  man,  noticing 
his  mortification  and  divining  its  cause,  assured 
him  on  the  honor  of  an  English  man  that  he 
would  never  divulge  his  disgrace;  and  Van  Gib- 
ber was  so  overcome  by  this  evidence  of  his 
servitor's  devotion  that  for  a  moment  or  two  he 


^  $attksj    ^ 

almost  thought  of  thanking  him.  But  he  re- 
frained, and  simply  turned  a  cold  Knickerbocker 
look  upon  him  that  greatly  increased  the  man's 
respect  for  his  master. 

Van  Gibber's  perplexity  was  to  know  how  to 
live  and  not  be  seen  by  any  who  might  report  his 
presence  in  town  at  such  an  unfashionable  date. 
He  could  not  ride  or  drive,  for  some 
of  the  old  men,  who  were  reckless 
and  still  staid  in  town  till  June 
20,  to  the  great  scandal  of 
the  set,  would  be  sure  to  see 
him  and  report  the  fact.  He 
might  walk.  He  had  once 
walked  six  blocks  down 
Broadway,  but  that 
was  when  he  was  in 
training,  during  his 
college  days.  The  ef- 
fort would  be  too  much 
for  him  now.  It  was  out  of  the  question.  So 
was  the  elevated  road.  A  friend  of  his  at  the 
Club  had  told  him  of  a  wild  trip  he  had  taken  on 
the  "L"  road  from  Wall  Street  to  Twenty-third 
Street,  and  how  his  head  had  ached  for  a  week 
afterward. 

Suddenly  an  idea  struck  him  —  tlie  street- 
cars. There  were  horse-cars  running  on  certain 
streets  in  the  city.  He  had  never  seen  them,  but 
he  knew  they  existed,  because  his  father  had  left 
him  a  block  of  stock  in  the  line,  and  he  dimly 
recollected  his  lawyer  telling  him  a  short  time 
before,  that  he  had  been  elected  president,  or 
manager,  or  something,  of  the  company.  He 
rang  for  his  man  and  asked  where  the  nearest 


^    IJarns  from  Puck»   ^ 

horse-car  line  was.  The  man  nearly  choked  with 
astonishment,  but  he  answered.  Van  Gibber  shud- 
dered at  the  name  of  the  street.  He  had  never 
heard  of  it  before.  It  must  be  very  unfashionable. 
He  half  repented  of  his  determination;  but  he 
finally  made  a  mental  note  of  the  place.  He  de- 
clined the  man's  offer  to  call  a  horse,  and  to  that 
person's  great  amazement  actually  walked  out  of 
sight  around  the  corner.  Van  Gibber  hired  the 
first  small  boy  he  saw,  to  conduct  him  to  his 
destination.  It  was  much  nearer  his  house  than 
he  imagined,  and  the  boy  was  dumbfounded  when 
Van  Gibber  handed  him  a  dollar. 

He  had  not  long  to  wait,  for  presently,  with 
a  prodigious  noise  and  jangling  of  bells,  a  car 
hove  in  sight.  Van  Gibber  raised  his  umbrella; 
but  the  car  rushed  furiously  past  him,  and  the 
driver  angrily  motioned  him  to  follow.  He  per- 
ceived the  car  stop  at  the  farther  crossing. 

"  Back  up,  my  good  fellow,"  said  Van  Gibber. 
"How  the  deuce  do  you  expect  me — " 

"Back  nothing,  you  Macy  dude!  If  you 
want  this  car,  come  a-hoppin',"  was  the  reply. 
To  say  Van  Gibber  was  astonished  is  putting  it 
mildly.  His  first  impulse  was  to  thrash  the  im- 
pudent fellow ;  but  he  saw  that  this  would  do  no 
good,  so  he  picked  his  way  across  the  street  and 
stepped  upon  the  platform.  The  car  started  with 
a  savage  jerk,  and  the  conductor  muttered  some- 
thing about  "monkeys  in  men's  clothes,"  which 
Van  Gibber  did  not  catch  the  drift  of.  Several 
men  paid  their  fare,  and  Van  Gibber  was  very 
much  interested  in  the  manner  in  which  the  con- 
ductor registered  them.  That  person  tapped  Van 
Gibber  on  the  arm  and  the  latter  saw  that  his 


fare  was  required.  He  handed  the  conductor  a 
dollar  and  turned  away.  The  conductor  began 
counting  out  a  vast  quantity  of  small  coins  of  a 
denomination  unknown  to  Van  Gibber.  A  hand- 
ful of  these  were  put  into  his  palm.  He  looked 
at  them  blankly  and  then  at  the  conductor. 

"That's  your  change!"  the'  latter  said  con- 
temptuously. 

"Change?  Oh,  keep 'it  for  your  trouble!" 
said  Van  Gibber,  passing  back  the  nickels  and 


dusting  his  hands  with  his  handkerchief.  He 
entered  the  car  and  took  the  only  seat  left.  This 
was  not  done  without  an  inward  shudder,  for  in 
all  his  life  Van  Gibber  had  never  been  in  such 
miscellaneous  company  before.  There  was  a  negro 
in  one  corner  and  a  Chinaman  on  the  front-plat- 


^   l)arns 

form,  and  right  across  from  him  sat  a  very  large 
woman  holding  on  her  lap  a  basket  from  under 
the  lid  of  which  stuck  the  head  of  a  live  hen. 
There  was  not  another  gentleman  in  the  car  — 
not  a  man  who  wore  a  gardenia  in  his  button- 
hole, or  whose  collar  and  cuffs  were  indigenous  to 
his  shirt. 

They  were  coarse  and  common-looking,  and 
Van  Gibber  wondered  if  they  really  had  names, 
or  if  they  were  just  numbered.  The  car  stopped, 
and  two  women  entered.  Van  Gibber  was  on 
his  feet  in  an  instant,  and,  hat  in  hand,  showed 
the  first  comer  to  his  seat.  She  was  a  portly 
woman  with  a  large,  brown-paper  parcel.  The 
other,  a  distinguished-looking  young  person  at- 
tired in  a  black  broadcloth  dress,  took  a  strap 
which  hung  from  a  bar  running  lengthwise  of  the 
car,  and  stood  up! 

Van  Gibber  looked  about  him  in  consterna- 
tion. No  one  seemed  to  think  the  lady  was  doing 
anything  but  what  was  proper.  Among  others  in 
the  car  were  several  rough  fellows,  who  looked 
as  if  they  might  work  for  a  living.  They  con- 
tinued to  read  papers,  or  look  out  of  the  window. 
Van  Gibber  touched  one  on  the  shoulder.  He 
looked  up. 

"  Beg  pardon,"  said  Van  Gibber;  "  this  lady 
is  standing." 

"  What  of  it  ?  "  asked  the  man  brutally. 

"  But  you  don't  seem  to  understand.  She 
wants  a  seat." 

"  Well,  where  is  it  ?  I  don't  see  it,"  said  the 
fellow  with  a  laugh. 

"  Well,  I  do,"  said  Van  Gibber,  as  with  a 
steel-like  grip  he  caught  the  loafer  and  flung  him 

9  "5 


to  the  further  end  of  the  car.  "  Madam,  allow 
me,"  and  he  bowed  gracefully  to  the  standing 
woman.  The  man  picked  himself  up,  and  with  a 
howl  of  rage  flew  at  Van  Gibber.  Two  com- 
panions simultaneously  attacked  him  from  behind. 
Van  Gibber's  terrible  left  swung  out  and  caught 
the  assailant  with  an  upper  cut  which  sent  him  to 
the  ground  again,  while  at  the  same  time  his  right 
came  around  with  an  awful  sweep  on  the  nose  of 
No.  2.  He  clinched  with  No.  3,  and,  getting  a 
half- Nelson,  flung  him  with  two  broken  ribs  upon 
the  floor.  By  this  time  the  car  had  stopped,  and 
the  passengers  fled  to  the  street.  The  woman, 
the  seating  of  whom  had  caused  trouble,  arose 
and  left  also.  Outside  she  began  to  tap  lightly 
on  the  pavement  with  her  parasol.  Van  Gibber 
followed  her  to  the  curb.  He  had  not  even 
ruffled  his  necktie. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  "but  that  call 
you  are  giving  is  for  the  Board  of  Public  Works 
—  not  the  Police.  Allow  me  to  escort  you  to 
your  home  before  they  arrive;"  and,  in  spite  of 
her  protests,  he  handed  her  into  a  cab.  She  gave 
him  an  address. 

"  Why,  that  is  Mrs.  Van  Holler's,  is  it  not  ?  " 
he  said. 

"  Y-e-s"  —  hesitatingly. 

"  That  is  strange  —  I  beg  your  pardon,  but 
my  name  is  Van  Gibber,  and  Mrs.  Van  Holler  is 
my  dearest  friend.  You  are  stopping  with  her,  I 
presume." 

"Yes;  for  the  present." 

"  But  she  is  out  of  town  —  Newport,  I 
think." 

«  Yes." 


puck»   ^ 

Her  shyness  was  very  charming  to  Van 
Gibber.  He  thought  her  exquisite.  How  strange 
he  had  never  met  her  before !  Her  presence 
on  the  street -car  was  probably  accountable  to 
the  same  reason  as  his  own.  They  talked  of 
various  things,  and  she  seemed  to  know  many 
of  his  friends.  Really,  he  must  follow  this  up. 
At  the  house  he  bade  her  good-by,  and  ventured 
to  press  her  hand  slightly  as  he  handed  her  from 
the  cab,  and  hazarded  the  hope  that  he  might  see 
her  again  at  Newport  or  Lenox. 

Two  weeks  later  he  ran  across  Mrs.  Van 
Holler  in  the  Casino  at  Newport.  She  took  him 
up  to  lunch  at  her  cottage,  and  he  saw  his  cab 
companion  in  a  side  room  sewing  upon  one  of 
Mrs.  Van  Holler's  gowns. 

Van  Gibber  went  back  to  New  York.  He 
told  his  man  to  go  and  see  his  lawyer  about  pass- 
ing a  law  to  compel  common  people  to  ride  in 
street-cars  only  at  certain  hours,  or  else  to  abolish 
street-cars  altogether. 

PUCK'S  Patent  Davis. 


117 


SUING    FOR     DAMAGES. 


SUING    FOR    DAMAGES. 


!RS.  MULRANEY  passed  across  her 
heated  brow  a  new  handkerchief 
trimmed  with  imitation  lace;  she 
adjusted  her  green  ribbons,  and 
gave  the  front  of  her  dress -an  ap- 
proving pat;  she  exchanged  smiles 
with  another  approving  Pat  who  was 
seated  far  back  among  the  spectators,  for  on  the 
successful  termination  of  this  suit  the  speedy 
happiness  of  the  pair  depended.  She  felt  that 
she  had  passed  handsomely  through  the  ordeal, 
and  was  by  no  means  prepared  for  her  counsel's 
concluding  words.  "You  may  have  the  witness," 
he  had  remarked  with  a  friendly  nod  toward  the 
attorney  for  the  defense.  "Can  he,  indade?  an' 
much  good  may  she  do  him,"  retorted  Mrs.  Mul- 
raney,  wheeling  around  to  confront  the  enemy. 
Pat,  in  the  background,  hitched  uneasily  on  his 
seat.  It  was  a  settled  thing  that  he  should  have 
the  witness  when  these  lawyers  were  done  with  her. 
"You  are  a  widow,  I  believe,  Mrs.  Mul- 
raney  ?"  began  the  opposing  counsel  in  a  pleasant, 
conversational  tone. 

"That 's  what  I  am,  an'  I  can  call  witnesses 
to  prove  it,"  answered  the  plaintiff;   and  Pat  half 


fjanhs;    V 


rose  from  his  chair.     This  was  a  point  to  which 
he  could  speak  from  personal  knowledge. 

"Now,  how  do  you  know  that  it  was  the 
hose  cart   attached  to   Engine  31   that  ran    over 
you  at  Eighth  Avenue  and  23d  Street 
on  the  day  in  question?"  proceeded 
the  cross-examiner. 

"  Beca'se    I    heerd    the    b'ys 
yellin'   it    out:    'There   she   goes 
with  her  hose  strealin' ! '     And 
at  first   I   thought  it  was  me 
own    stockin's    they    meant, 
for  who  's  to  know  how  the 
likes  would  be,  an'  a  body 
knocked  down  wid  horse 
power?      But  sure  it  was 
the     engine's    stockin'  — 
hose,  I   mane  —  they  had 
riference  to." 

"Exactly;   so  it  is  from 
hearsay  you  accuse  the  engine  —  " 

"  Sorra  taste ;  it  was  from  feelin',  wid  me 
back  bruk,  an'  all  me  vallybles  ground  into 
me!" 

"  Please  allow  me  to  finish  my  question. 
Where  were  you  going  at  the'  time  the  accident 
occurred  ?  " 

"  I  was  goin'  home,  as  a  dacent  woman 
should,  close  on  to  tin  at  night,  which  is  always 
me  hour  on  me  Sunday  out." 

"  So  you  had  been  spending  the  day  out ! 
Now,  where  were  you  coming  from  ? " 

"  I  object,"  interjected  plaintiff's  counsel, 
springing  to  his  feet. 

"An"  so  do  I !"  echoed  Mrs.  Mulraney.      "  I 


^    ^arns  from  puck,   ^ 

object  strong!  What  call  has  he  axin'  the  like  o' 
them  questions,  anyhow  ?  " 

A  short  tilt  between  the  lawyers  brought  out 
that  counsel  for  the  defense  was  seeking  to  impugn 
plaintiff's  sobriety.  The  question  was  allowed. 

"  Well,  then,  I  was  spendin'  the  evenin'  wid 
Pat  —  was  n't  I,  Pat?  —  and  did  ere  a  sup  pass 
me  two  lips,  barrin'  that  little  tint  o'  beer  what 
ye  'd  be  to  have  me  to  drink  ?  an'  now  may  be 
it  's  goin'  to  cost  me  thousands  o'  dollars !  Spake 
up,  Pat,  yer  sowl  ye,  an  tell  His  Honor  I  niver 
looked  the  side  of  as  much  liquor  as  'u'd  drown'd 
a  flea  that  blissid  day." 

Thus  adjured,  Pat  rose;  but  his  answer  was 
not  admitted  by  the  court.  The  cross-examina- 
tion continued,  and  by  this  time  Mrs.  Mulraney 
was  in  a  highly  excited  and  nervous  state. 

"  I  have  been  given  to  understand,"  pursued 
the  lawyer,  after  a  glance  at  his  notes,  "  that  with 
regard  to  the  damages  sought  in  this  action,  the 
plaintiff  has  already  executed  a  conveyance — " 

"  Is  it  me  ? "  shrieked  Mrs.  Mulraney,  horri- 
fied at  this  monstrous  allegation ;  "  is  it  me  exe- 
cuted a  conveyance,  when  it  's  only  by  special 
mercy  the  conveyance  did  n't  execute  me  ?  I 
tell  you  I  'd  come  uptown  in  a  car  wid  Pat, 
there  beyant,  and  I  towld  him  good-by  at  the 
corner,  an'  started  to  cross  the  strate,  an'  — " 

"  In  what  did  you  cross  the  street?"  inter- 
posed the  examining  lawyer. 

"  In  the  mud !  More  betoken,  I  wish  ye 
cud  ha'  seen  me  Sunday  gown,  afther  me  bein' 
rowled  in  it,  an'  only  for  the  dacency  of  the 
policeman  what  's  placed  there  to  protect  the 
furious  drivers,  sorra  cross  iver  I  'd  ha'  crossed." 
t*3 


"  I  mean,  did  you  ride  or  walk  ? "  inter- 
rupted the  lawyer,  impatiently. 

"  Faix,  I  done  nayther,  sir.  I  run,  an  kep' 
a-runnin'  till  I  was  knocked  down." 

"  This  was  at  the  crossing  of  Eighth  Avenue 
and  Twenty-third  Street  ?  " 

"  That  's  where  it  was,  an'  aisier  an'  safer 
I  'd  find  it  to  cross  the  siven  oceans  in  a  horse- 
car  that  same  night ! " 

"  From  what  direction  did  the  hose  cart  ap- 
proach ?  " 

"  There  were  maychines  comin'  from  all 
sides,  an'  I  think  it  come  out  o'  the  skies ;  it 
struck  me  that  suddint." 

"  There  are  no  engine  houses  in  that  direc- 
tion," remarked  the  lawyer  with  a  smile. 

"  I  don't  doubt  but  what  the  fires  do  be 
mostly  the  other  way,"  assented  the  witness. 

••  What  is  your  profession,  or  calling?" 

"  I  'm  a  cook,  sir,  which  same  is  a  necessary 
aivil,  as  ye  '11  own,  for  ye  look  like  a  gintleman 
who  'd  enjoy  a  good  dinner  yersilf,  an'  I  don't  say 
but  the  same  'u'd  do  ye  good;  an'  I  've  ivery 
second  Sunday  to  meself,  as  a  lady  has  a  right,  to 
walk  out  wid  or  widout  company  —  that  same  's 
Pat,  beyant — an'  to  go  abroad  an'  be  run  over  at 
will  by  vehicles  an'  convaynincies  which  go  harm- 
less and  often  unprotected  through  the  strates  of 
this  city,  which  have  no  other  place  to  walk  an' 
have  ivery  right  to,  widout  bein'  ground  down  an' 
bruk  up  so  as  I  can't  make  me  livin'  —  a  thing 
I  've  always  done  honest,  an'  niver  failed  till  now 
to  have  a  few  dollars  to  send  home  to  me  oukl 
father  round  about  Christmas  time." 

"A  very  proper  feeling,  Mrs.  Mulraney;  but, 
124 


^   IJarns  ftotn  Puck,  ^ 

surely,  this-  trifling  accident  has  not  debarred  you 
from  the  exercise  of  your  honorable  profession." 

"  Thriflin'  ?  wid  me  lift  rib  impressin'  on  me 
heart,  as  the  doctor  towld  me !  '  Ma'am,'  says  he, 
<it  's  only  astonishin'  that  you  're  alive  this  minnit;' 
an'  not  a  day  but  it  takes  the  biggest  part  of  a 
bottle  o'  brandy  to  kape  up  me  spirits  at  all, 
to  say  nothin"  of  a  dacent  b'y 
that  was  axin'  to  marry  me; 
an'  how  can  I  ax  him  to 
take  an  ould  sack  o'  crushed 
bones,  whin  it  was  a  pur- 
fessed  cook  he  was  coort- 
in'  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  think  your 
accident  will  cost  you 
your      sweetheart," 
remarked    the   law- 
yer, with   a  quizzi- 
cal  glance   at    Pat, 
who   had  remained 
a    deeply    interested 
spectator,  "  nor  do  you 
seem  to  have  suffered  in 

other   ways.      I    can   not   learn   that   either   your 
salary  or  your  perquisites  are  in  abeyance  — " 

"  They  're  in   the  bank,  led  up  for  a  green 
ould  age!      Where  else  'd  they  be?" 

"That    's     all,     Madam;      you     can     stand 
down." 

.    "Thank  Yer  Honor;   I  'd  liefer  sit  down,  av 
ye  plaze." 

"  Just  as  you  like,  Ma'am." 

"  An'  me  damages  —  don't  I  git  them  ?  " 

"  That  is  a  question  for  the  jury  to  decide." 


$artlts> 


"  Ah !  an'  av  that  's  the  way  of  it,  I  Ve  no 
call  to  be  afeard.  It  's  not  in  this  town  that 
ye  '11  find  any  twelve  men  who  won't  know  the 
dangers  an'  perils  av  the  strates;  and  it  's  not  in 
unther  the  skin  av  any  o'  thim  fine  looking,  cliver, 
good  gintlemen  to  take  the  bread  out  o'  a  poor 
widdy's  mouth,  whin  they  can  make  her  an'  a 
dasent  b'y  happy,  widout  its  costin'  wan  o'  thim 
a  cint !  Yer  sarvent,  good  gin- 
tlemen, an'  may  all  sorts  o' 
good  luck  attend  ye,  an' — " 
"  Come,  come,  my 
good  woman  ! " 

"Yis,  Yer  Honor;  an' 
may  the  wish  o'  yer  hearts 
niver  fail  ye,  an'  may  ye 
niver  die  till  ye  see  great- 
grand-children  'round  ye, 
as  handsome  as  yersilves! 
Yis,  Your  Honor,  I  hear 
ye  ! "  and  Mrs.  Mulraney 
joined  her  counsel. 

Owing  to  the  justice 
of  her  cause,  to  her  judi- 
cious application  of  blar- 
ney to  the  jurors,  or  to 
her  masterly  resistance  dur- 
ing a  severe  cross  -  exami- 
nation, Mrs.  Mulraney  collected  two  thousand 
dollars  from  the  city,  abandoned  her  professional 
career,  and  is  now  living  in  affluence  with  "  the 
b'y  of  her  ch'ice." 

G.  H.  Jessop. 


izb 


WHY    THE 

REVEREND   EDWARD    ATKINS 
CHANGED     HIS     PARISH. 


"1  "^1 

£JQ 

>>    s 
s    « 


WHY      THE     REVEREND      EDWARD 
ATKINS   CHANGED  HIS   PARISH. 


|HE  Reverend  Edward  Atkins  was 
a  good  young  clergyman  who 
presided  over  a  country  parish 
in  Vermont.  His  salary  was 
not  large,  and  he  sometimes 
wondered  if  it  was  net  pos- 
sible to  add  to  it  in  some  le- 
gitimate way.  Among  his  par- 
ishioners was  a  Mrs.  Sober,  a  lady 
who  wrote  books  and  short  stories  that  contained 
an  underlying  substratum  of  moral  purpose.  The 
interest  often  suffered  thereby,  and  the  books  did 
not  find  a  ready  sale,  a  sad  and  undeniable  fact, 
which  Mrs.  Sober  attributed  to  the  equally  sad  and 
undeniable  fact  that  there  are  so  many  wicked 
people  in  the  world  nowadays;  nevertheless,  the 
little  stories  which  she  occasionally  wrote  for 
the  religious  papers  brought  her  small  sums  of 
money,  and,  among  her  fellow-townspeople,  un- 
limited glory. 

The  Reverend  Edward  Atkins  was  not  ambi- 
tious in  a  worldly  way,  nor  was  he  a  grasping 
man,  yet  he  cherished  a  mild  desire  for  the  five- 

I2Q 


dollar  checks  and  the  goodly  amount  of  honor 
which  he  could  obtain  by  having  a  story  in  some 
religious  weekly.  He  bought  himself  a  small 
compendium  of  information  for  authors,  and 
therein  finding  several  recipes  for  concocting 
stories,  set  himself  about  what  promised  to  be  an 
easy  task. 

"Take  so  much  good  young  man,"  said  he 
to  himself,  "simmer  him  gently  in  some  stock 
temptation,  pour  grated  moral  reflections  over 
him,  and  there  you  are." 

However,  the  paper  which  he  had  selected 
to  write  his  stories  for,  only  published  stories  suit- 
able for  children ;  so  he  concluded  to  try  another 
recipe.  He  looked  over  the  table  of  contents  of 
several  children's  magazines,  and  was  struck  by 
the  large  number  of  stories  that  bore  the  title, 
"  Chased  by  Wolves,"  or,  at  all  events,  slight  varia- 
tions of  that  title. 

"  Here  is  a  popular  subject,"  said  Atkins 
to  himself;  "and  about  all  I  have  to  do  is  to 
have  a  man,  some  wolves,  have  the  wolves 
chase  the  man,  and  have  the  man  get  away. 
Have  the  man  skate  away,  run  away,  swim  away, 
climb  a  tree,  or  have  him  tip  six  cords  of  wood 
off  a  bob-sled,  and  the  horses,  lightened  of  the 
load,  carry  him  away  at  a  furious  speed.  It  is 
very  simple.  The  man  and  the  wolves  are  the 
main  thing,  the  rest  will  come  of  itself."  And  he 
laid  on  his  desk  a  plain  white  writing  tablet,  such 
as  the  author's  compendium  had  advised  him  to 
get,  and  gently  chewed  the  end  of  a  medium  soft 
pencil,  another  suggestion  of  the  compendium. 

The  story  must  convey  a  moral,  and  here 
was  the  only  difficulty,  for  it  was  not  altogether 
130 


^   l)arns 

an  easy  task  to  make  a  wolf  story  convey  a  moral. 
He  might  have  two  bad  little  boys,  who  had  been 
told  by  their  mother  to  stay  home  evenings,  go 
off  skating  and  be  chased  by  the  wolves;  but  the 
complete  production  of  a  moral  effect  would  de- 
mand that  the  wolves  eat  up  the  bad  little  boys, 
and  this  would  be  altogether  too  disagreeable  an 
ending  for  the  story  and  the  bad  little  boys.  He 
looked  in  the  compendium,  and,  under  the  head- 
ing "Plot,"  read,  "Suggestions  for  plots  may  often 
be  found  in  the  daily  newspapers."  He  did  not 
take  a  daily,  but  was  a  subscriber  to  the  local 
weekly,  and  he  picked  up  the  latest  issue  and 
glanced  over  the  village  items : 

"  Adam  Pease's  cow  was  sick  the  fore  part  of  the  week." 
"Stephen  Hancock  went  to  Boston  the   fore  part  of  the 

week." 

"  Mrs.  Hiram  Hutchinson  has  been  enjoying  poor  health 

of  late." 

He  glanced  down  the  column,  over  the  items 
concerning  bad  roads ;  deaths  and  marriages ;  sur- 
prise parties  and  quilting  bees;  the  squashes, 
pumpkins,  onions,  and  large  eggs  that  had  been 
presented  to  the  editor,  and  at  the  end  found  an 
item  that  attracted  his  attention : 

"  Royal  P.  Harvey  called  at  our  office  last  week,  and 
showed  us  something  which  he  prizes  highly.  It  was  a  Testa- 
ment with  a  round  hole  going  through  the  cover  and  part  way 
through  the  book.  Opening  it,  he  showed  us  what  made  the 
hole,  a  bullet  embedded  in  the  leaves.  He  carried  this  Testa- 
ment in  his  breast  pocket  during  the  war,  and  at  the  Battle  of 
the  Wilderness  it  saved  his  life,  for  the  bullet,  which  otherwise 
would  have  penetrated  his  breast,  was  effectually  stopped  by 
the  Testament." 

Ah !  here  was  a  suggestion.  He  would  have 
the  hero  of  his  story  carry  a  Testament.  When 

10  fjf 


-y   fyinks  >    V 

the  wolf  leaped  at  the  hero's  breast  pocket  to  bite 
at  his  heart,  after  the  manner  of  all  savage  ani- 
mals, the  creature's  teeth  would  be  caught  in  the 
Testament  and  the  hero  would  be  saved. 

But  did  savage  animals  make  for  the  heart 
of  their  victims?  Was  it  not  the  throat  that 
they  sought  ?  He  could  not  have  his  hero  wear 
the  Testament  about  the  neck.  Moreover,  would 
so  small  a  book  as  a  Testament  be  a  sufficient 
protection  ?  for  if,  perchance,  the  wolf  miss  the 
breast  pocket  in  his  leap,  he  might  do  the  hero 
much  harm  in  some  other  place.  No;  an  atlas 
of  goodly  dimensions  would  be  the  only  sure  pro- 
tection, and  this  would  necessitate  that  the  hero 
be  a  depraved  book  agent,  with  the  sample  of  his 
wares  concealed  beneath  his  coat  to  beguile  the 
wary,  and  such  a  person  would  never  do  for  the 
hero  of  a  moral  tale. 

At  last,  the  plot  and  the  attendant  incidents 
formulated  themselves  in  his  mind.  The  hero  was 
a  young  clergyman  living  upon  the  banks  of  a 
large  lake  in  the  Maine  woods,  who,  presiding 
over  several  congregations,  in  Winter-time  was 
accustomed  to  skate  to  and  from  his  various 
preaching  places.  As  the  exigencies  of  the 
chosen  plot  demanded  that  there  be  but  one 
pursuing  wolf,  the  hero  was  described  as  a  man 
small  in  stature,  and  mild,  but  .great  in  virtue 
and  valiant  in  good  deeds,  and  the  wolf  was 
described  as  an  exceedingly  large  and  ferocious 
beast  of  a  terrifying  aspect.  The  first  two-thirds 
of  the  story  was  taken  up  by  a  description  of  the 
virtues  of  the  hero  and  a  short  account  of  his 
pedigree,  thus  furnishing  the  moral  pabulum 
necessary  for  a  story  of  this  kind,  and  preparing 
132 


the  reader's  mind  for  the  great  enjoyment  of 
hearing  how  this  good  young  man  escaped  from 
the  wolf.  We  will  not  bother  ourselves  with  the 
first  part  of  the  tale,  but  will  come  to  the  wolf 
episode  at  once.  We  will  take  up  the  hero  as  he 
is  slowly  skating  homeward  over  the  surface  of 
Lake  Mahopog,  one  Sunday  afternoon,  after  hav- 
ing held  services  at  Mahopog  Village  : 

"  The  ice  was  as  smooth  as  glass.  Over- 
head, a  few  fleecy  clouds  drifted  in  the  deep  blue 
sky.  As  Mr.  Higginbotham  sped  over  the  ice 
toward  home,  he  revolved  in  his  mind  many  plans 
for  raising  money  to  build  the  church  which  the 
now  thriving  congregation  at  Mahopog  Village 
needed  so  badly.  In  his  hands  he  held  a  bulky 
volume  of  Baxter's  Saints'  Rest,  which  he  pe- 
rused as  he  sped  over  the  smooth  expanse.  It 
was  his  custom  to  ever  carry  some  good  books 
and  read  them  as  he  wended  his  way.  But  his 
mind  was  now  so  full  of  thoughts  of  the  Mahopog 
church,  and,  as  the  slowly  declining  orb  of  day 
gradually  sinking  toward  the  western  horizon 
warned  him  that  the  day  was  dying,  and  he  had 
many  miles  yet  to  go,  he  put  the  Saints'  Rest  in 
the  left  side  lower  pocket  of  his  overcoat,  and 
skated  more  vigorously. 

'33 


"  A  low,  ominous  howl  caught  his  attention. 
He  turned  his  head,  and  saw  speeding  toward 
him,  over  the  ice,  at  a  distance  of  a  quarter  of  a 
mile,  an  enormous  wolf.  Four  miles  lay  between 
him  and  the  place  where  the  lake  flowed  into  the 
Mahopog  River.  On  the  banks  of  the  river  was 
a  logging  camp,  and  his  cries  would  call  the 
loggers  to  his  rescue  if  the  beast  should  come 
upon  him  before  he  could  have  time  to  unstrap 
his  skates  and  dash  for  the  protection  of  a  logger's 
cabin.  Could  he  outstrip  the  wolf?  Merrily 
rang  his  skates.  He  looked  back.  The  wolf 
was  surely  gaining.  He  could  see  the  gaping 
red  mouth,  and  the  flashing  eyes  of  the  ferocious 
animal,  and  every  little  while  a  terrible  howl 
smote  upon  his  ear.  Fear  lent  wings  to  his  feet ; 
but  on  came  the  wolf,  faster  than  ever.  He  had 
no  weapon  about  him  to  defend  himself;  but  if 
his  strength  would  only  hold  out  longer  than  the 
wolf's,  he  would  escape  yet. 

"  The  bottom  of  his  overcoat,  rendered 
heavy  on  the  left  side  by  the  bulky  volume  of 
the  Saints'  Rest  low  down  in  the  side  pocket. 
flapped  against  his  legs  and  impeded  his  move- 
ments. He  started  to  throw  the  book  away;  but 
paused,  and  thought  it  would  be  wrong  to  throw 
so  good  a  book  away.  If  he  could  get  to  the 
logging  camp  and  get  into  a  cabin  before  the 
wolf  overtook  him,  he  would  escape  yet. 

"On  came  the  wolf,  his  mouth  gaping  open 
as  he  gave  vent  to  frequent  howls.  The  Saints' 
Rest  flapped  against  Mr.  Higginbotham's  legs 
more  than  ever.  He  said  to  himself  that  if  he 
threw  it  away,  perhaps  the  wolf  would  stop  to  see 
what  the  thing  fluttering  on  the  ice  was,  and  he 


V    Darns  from  puck,   V 

would  gain  time;  but  he  thought  of  the  wicked 
Russian  woman  who  threw  her  children  out  to 
the  pursuing  wolves  in  order  to  save  her  own  life, 
and  concluded  that  it  would  be  wrong  to  sacrifice 
such  a  good  book  as  the  Saints'  Rest.  After  all, 
if  the  wolf  should  abandon  the  chase,  he  would 
escape  yet. 

"On  came  the  wolf,  nearer,  nearer,  nearer, 
and  a  stiff  breeze  sprung  up  directly  in  Mr.  Hig- 
ginbotham's  face.  The  Saints'  Rest  side  of  his 
overcoat  flaps  against  his  legs  worse  than  ever; 
but  he  puts  aside  temptation  and  struggles  against 
the  wind.  The  wolf  gains  upon  him.  He  fears 
he  will  be  lost ;  but  he  sees  far  ahead  of  him  a 
long,  slender,  black  object  lying  on  the  ice;  per- 
haps it  is  a  gun  or  something  of  the  sort.  If  he 
can  only  get  there  before  the  wolf  overtakes  him, 
he  may  be  able  to.  defend  himself  and  escape  yet. 
Nearer  comes  the  wolf.  Mr.  Higginbotham 
struggles  against  the  wind  and  gets  nearer  to  the 
long,  black  thing.  On,  on,  pant,  pant,  goes  the 
wolf;  flap,  flap,  goes  the  left  side  of  Mr.  Higgin- 
botham's  overcoat  with  the  Saints'  Rest  in  the 
pocket.  He  is  almost  upon  the  black  thing  when 
the  wolf  makes  a  mighty  leap,  seizes  the  left  side 
of  the  overcoat  in  his  powerful  jaws ;  Mr.  Higgin- 
botham staggers;  there  is  a  tearing  sound,  the 
overcoat  parts,  leaving  the  lower  left  side  in  the 
wolf's  mouth ;  Mr.  Higginbotham,  released  by 
the  sudden  tear,  slides  forward,  falls  upon  the 
black  object,  leaps  to  his  feet  with  it  in  his  hands. 
It  is  a  stout,  oaken  sled  stake ;  he  turns  to  face 
his  enemy  with  this  trusty  weapon. 

Behold !  the  wolf  is  rolling  on  his  back, 
pawing  convulsively  at  his  mouth.  He  had  bitten 
rjS 


<V  fjattte;    -V 

the  overcoat  just  over  the  pocket  where  the  Saints' 
Rest  was,  and  his  teeth  had  stuck  in  the  book 
and  he  could  n't  get  them  out.  With  one  blow 
of  the  sled  stake,  Mr.  Higginbotham  killed  the 
wolf,  and  then  he  felt  thankful  that  he  had  not 
yielded  to  temptation  and  thrown  away  the  Saints' 
Rest,  for  it  had  saved  his  live.  More,  he  received 
ten  dollars  bounty  for  killing  the  wolf,  and  eleven 
dollars  for  its  skin." 

Such  was  the  dramatic  wind-up  of  the  other- 
wise prosaic  and  meandering  tale  written  by  the 
Reverend  Edward  Atkins.  In  the  first  two-thirds 
of  the  story,  he  had  described  a  model  young 
man ;  in  the  last  third  he  had  pictured  the  young 
man  beset  at  once  by  temptation  and  a  large  wolf, 
triumphantly  overcoming  the  former  and  therein- 
escaping  the  latter,  and  winning  twenty-one  dol- 
lars. The  most  critical  could  find  no  fault  with 
the  story  and  it  was  at  once  sent  to  a  large 
religious  weekly. 

It  happened  that  in  the  building  containing 
the  editorial  rooms  of  the  religious  weekly,  there 
were  also  the  editorial  rooms  of  a  weekly  of  a  far 
different  sort,  a  weekly  whose  columns  were  in- 
tended to  excite  merriment  in  its  readers,  and 
which,  beyond  printing  colored  political  cartoons, 
did  not  pretend  to  influence  the  populace,  save  to 
laughter.  By  some  mistake  of  the  postman,  Mr. 
Atkins's  manuscript  was  dumped  upon  the  table 
of  the  humorous  editor  and  lay  there  in  the  secular 
companionship  of  jokes,  funny  stories,  and  light 
lyrics.  The  humorous  editor  opened  the  envelope 
without  noticing  the  address,  but  he  had  not  read 
far  before  he  decided  that  the  story  must  have 


been  intended  for  the  paper  across  the  passage, 
and  reading  the  address,  saw  he  was  right.  How- 
ever, his  paper  frankly  told  everyone  that  ac- 
cepted manuscripts  must  be  subject  to  editorial 
revision,  and  he  believed  that  this  manuscript, 
with  a  little  editorial  revision,  could  be  made  suit- 
able for  his  paper.  He  left  the  first  part  of  the 
story  just  as  Mr.  Atkins  had  written  it,  but  the 
part  relating  the  adventure  with  the  wolf,  he 
changed  a  little. 

A  few  days  later,  Mr.  Atkins  was  amazed 
and  pleased  by  receiving  a  check  for  twenty-five 
dollars  from  a  paper  whose  name  he  had  never 
heard.  He  did  not  understand  why  the  check 
should  come  from  this  paper  instead  of  the  re- 
ligious weekly,  but  as  the  compensation  was  five 
times  as  large  as  he  had  hoped  to  receive,  he  had 
no  objections  to  make.  Two  months  passed  and 
he  received  a  copy  of  the  paper.  It  contained 
his  story.  As  he  looked  through  the  pages  to  see 
in  what  company  the  story  had  fallen,  he  won- 
dered that  this  paper  should  have  abandoned  its 
137 


levity  enough  to  publish  his  story.  Full  of  the 
thoughts  of  other  stories  that  were  to  bring  him 
twenty-five  dollar  checks,  he  read  his  story  in 
calm  content.  He  read  of  the  good  young  hero 
and  his  pedigree,  and,  I  regret  to  say,  skipped  a 
little  to  come  to  the  less  elevating,  but  more  inter- 
esting account  of  the  wolf  adventure.  And  here, 
alas,  he  came  upon  evidences  of  editorial  revision  : 

"In  his  hands  he  held  a  bulky  volume  of 
Baxter's  Saints'  Rest,  which  he  perused  as  he 
sped  over  the  smooth  expanse.  It  was  his  custom 
to  ever  carry  some  good  books  and  read  them  as 
he  wended  his  way,  and  he  had  in  the  lower  right 
pocket  of  his  overcoat,  a  copy  of  Jeremy  Taylor's 
Holy  Living,  and  in  the  rear  pocket,  the  com- 
panion volume  on  Holy  Dying;  in  his  breast 
pocket,  a  small  copy  of  Fox's  Martyrs  without 
illustrations,  and  his  inner  overcoat  pockets,  and 
his  coat  and  vest  pockets,  were  wadded  full  of 
tracts,  Sunday  School  leaflets,  Quarterly  Reports 
of  the  Methodist  Missionary  Society,  and  other 
documents  of  the  sort." 

Mr.  Atkins  gasped.  The  story  would  go  on 
as  he  had  written  it  for  a  few  lines  at  a  time,  and 
then  there  would  be  editorial  revision.  Three 
wolves  were  introduced  instead  of  one,  as  the 
editor  had  placed  a  good  book  in  each  of  the 
hero's  lower  pockets,  and  so  again  the  hero  was 
thrice  tempted  by  the  three  books  banging  against 
his  legs.  In  one  thing  was  the  revision  inapt,  Mr. 
Atkins  was  a  Baptist,  but  of  course  the  editor  did 
not  know  this  and  could  be  pardoned  having  the 
hero  provided  with  Methodist  Quarterly  Reports. 


^    IJarns  from 

"  On  came  the  wolves,  their  mouths  gaping 
open  as  they  gave  vent  to  frequent  howls.  The 
Saints'  Rest,  the  Holy  Living  and  Holy  Dying, 
flapped  against  Mr.  Higginbotham's  legs  worse 
than  ever,  and  the  Book  of  Martyrs,  and  the 
missionary  reports,  lesson  leaves,  and  tracts, 
weighed  heavily  about  him.  He  said  to  him- 
self that  if  he  threw  them  away,  perhaps  the 
wolves  would  stop  to  see  what  the  things  flutter- 


ing on  the  ice  were,  and  he  would  gain  time; 
but  he  thought  of  the  wicked  Russian  woman 
who  threw  her  children  out  to  the  pursuing 
wolves  in  order  to  save  her  own  life,  and  con- 
cluded that  it  would  be  wrong  to  sacrifice  such 
good  literature.  After  all,  if  the  wolves  should 
keep  on  holding  their  mouths  open  in  this  cold 
air,  howling,  there  was  a  strong  possibility  that 


V  fjanksj    V 

they  would  contract  sore  throat,  which  would 
develop  into  diphtheria,  pneumonia,  or  lung 
fever,  and  they  would  die,  and  he  would 
escape  yet. 

"On  came  the  wolves,  nearer,  nearer, 
nearer,  and  a  stiff  breeze  sprung  up  directly 
in  Mr.  Higginbotham's  face.  The  Saints'  Rest, 
the  Holy  living  and  the  Holy  Dying,  flap  against 
his  legs  worse  than  ever,  but  he  puts  aside  temp- 
tation and  struggles  against  the  wind.  The 
wolves  gain.  He  fears  he  will  be  lost,  but  sees 
far  ahead  of  him  a  long,  slender  black  object 
lying  on  the  ice.  Perhaps  it  is  a  gun  or  some- 
thing of  the  sort;  a  big  sausage,  perhaps.  If  he 
can  only  get  there  before  the  wolves  overtake 
him,  he  may  be  able  to  defend  himself  and  escape 
yet;  or,  if  it  is  a  sausage,  the  wolves  will  stop  to 
eat  it  and  he  will  escape  yet. 

"  Nearer  came  the  wolves.  Mr.  Higgin- 
botham  struggles  against  the  wind  and  gets  nearer 
the  long,  black  thing.  On,  on,  pant,  pant,  go  the 
wolves;  flap,  flap,  goes  Mr.  Higginbotham's  over- 
coat. He  is  almost  upon  the  black  thing  when 
the  wolves  make  mighty  leaps;  one  seizes  the  left 
side  of  the  overcoat  in  his  powerful  jaws,  another 
seizes  the  right  side,  the  third  seizes  the  tail ; 
Mr.  Higginbotham  staggers;  there  is  a  tearing 
sound,  the  overcoat  parts,  leaving  the  bottom  in 
the  wolves'  mouths;  Mr.  Higginbotham,  released 
by  the  sudden  tear,  slides  forward,  falls  upon  the 
black  object,  leaps  to  his  feet  with  it  in  his  hands. 
It  is  a  stout  imitation  ebony  cane  with  a  gold- 
plated  head,  the  property  of  Selectman  Johnson, 
to  him  presented  by  the  freeholders  of  Mahopog 
township,  and  dropped  by  him  on  the  ice  while 
14.0 


^   IJarns  fro™  Pucb»  TP 

going  home  from  Dawson's  tavern.  Mr.  Higgin- 
botham  turns  to  face  his  enemies  with  his  trusty 
weapon. 

"  Behold !  the  wolves  are  rolling  on  their 
backs,  pawing  convulsively  at  their  mouths.  One 
had  bitten  through  the  overcoat  just  over  where 
the  Saints'  Rest  was,  and  his  teeth  had  stuck  in 
the  book  and  he  could  n't  get  them  out ;  another 
wolf  had  met  a  like  misfortune  with  the  Holy 
Living,  and  the  teeth  of  the  third  were  encum- 
bered with  the  Holy  Dying.  Mr.  Higginbotharn 
rushed  upon  the  first  wolf,  thrust  a  handful  of 
Sunday  School  leaflets  into  his  mouth,  and,  using 
the  cane  as  a  ramrod,  rammed  down  the  Saints' 
Rest  and  the  leaflets,  and  the  wolf  gave  a  kick  or 
two  and  lay  calm  and  beautiful  in  death.  He 
rushed  upon  the  second  and  filled  him  full  of 
Quarterly  Missionary  Reports.  The  third  wolf 
had  partially  succeeded  in  extricating  his  jaws 
from  the  Holy  Dying,  but  Mr.  Higginbotham  fell 
upon  him  and  rammed  down  the  Martyrs,  a  few 
tracts,  and  a  pair  of  embroidered  slippers  pre- 
sented to  him  that  very  day  by  Miss  Mahala 
Brown,  teacher  of  the  infant  class  in  the  Sunday 
School  at  Mahopog  Village.  As  he  looked  at  the 
three  dead  wolves,  he  was  thankful  that  he  had 
not  yielded  to  temptation  and  thrown  away  his 
portable  library,  for  it  had  saved  his  life.  He  was 
also  thankful  that  he  had  bought  a  cheap  five- 
dollar  overcoat  that  Fall,  for  a  better  one  might 
not  have  parted  so  easily,  and  in  that  case  he 
would  not  have  had  much  use  for  an  overcoat." 

The  congregation  immediately  took  up  the 
matter,  and  when  the  question  of  requesting  Mr. 


Atkins  to  resign  came  to  a  vote,  Mr.  Israel  Pea- 
body  expressed  the  sentiment  of  the  majority 
when  he  said :  "  I  don't  think  it  looks  very  well 
for  a  Baptist  parson  to  write  stories  about  fellers 
killin'  wolves  with  Methodist  Missionary  Reports. 
It  don't  look  like  he  was  loyal  to  his  own 
church." 

And   this   was   why   the    Reverend    Edward 
Atkins  changed  his  parish. 

U'anion  Allan   Curtis. 


142 


WILLY     AND     THE     MISSIONARY. 


if 


WILLY     AND     THE     MISSIONARY. 


ILLY   was   a  bright,   active   boy  of 
fifteen. 


He  had  previously  been  younger,  and 
no  less  bright  and  active  than  he  was  at  the  time 
this  narrative  begins.  But,  unfortunately,  owing 
to  the  lack  of  interest  taken  in  him  by  his  father, 
and  the  awe  and  admiration  of  his  brightness 
which  were  characteristic  of  his  mother,  the  direc- 
tion of  his  activities  had  generally  been  such  as 
to  render  him  distinctly  distasteful  to  those,  espe- 
cially persons  of  maturer  years,  with  whom  he  was 
thrown  in  contact  —  notably  his  school-teacher,  a 
somewhat  nervous  young  man  who  was  paying  his 
way  through  the  theological  seminary  by  under- 
going a  course  of  torture  as  a  teacher  in  a  public 
school  where  Willy  was  the  chief  inquisitor. 

The  most  exasperating  thing  about  Willy  was 
his  brightness,  which  always  enabled  him  to  avoid 
the  punishment  that  the  perverse  nature  of  his 
activities  should  naturally  have  brought  down 
upon  him.  But  it  was  in  vain  that  his  teacher 
sought  for  occasion  to  discipline  him.  Willy  had 
always  so  hedged  himself  in  that,  although  his 

'45 


V 

teacher  might  be  absolutely  certain,  morally,  that 
Willy  was  responsible  for  any  and  almost  every 
act  of  disorder  that  occurred  in  his  room,  he  had 
never  been  able  to  catch  him  at  any  specific  act 
that  could  not  be  passed  off  as  an  accident.  In 
fact,  his  teacher  realized  that  he  had  met  his 
match  in  Willy,  who  was  provoking  enough  always 
to  know  his  lessons  perfectly,  which  gave  him  a 
pull  with  the  principal,  which  added  to  the  diffi- 
culty of  the  situation. 

But  "Every  dog  has  his  day,"  even  the 
under  dog,  and  the  teacher's  came  at  last.  A 
young  man  was  wanted  by  the  Foreign  Board  to 
go  at  once  as  a  Missionary  to  Moribundha,  one 
of  the  Friendly  Islands,  to  take  the  place  of  a 
gentleman  who  had  fallen  a  dietetic  victim  to  the 
too  friendly  attentions  of  the  natives. 

Willy's  teacher  gladly ,  offered  his  services 
and  was  promptly  accepted,  ordained  and  pro- 
vided with  a  ticket  to  his  destination.  The 
steamer  which  stopped  at  Moribundha  only  sailed 
once  every  two  years,  and,  in  order  to  make  con- 
nections, he  was  compelled  to  leave  before  the 
end  of  the  school  session.  I  am  sorry  to  say  that, 
so  weak  is  human  nature,  the  young  minister's 
one  anxiety  was  that  he  might  not  be  able  to  get 
even  with  Willy  before  he  went  away.  He  had 
said  nothing  of  his  intended  departure,  but  for 
some  reason  Willy  had  been  unusually  circum- 
spect, and  for  a  whole  week  had  behaved  in  the 
most  exemplary  manner.  Finally  the  last  day 
came;  still  no  breach  of  deportment  had  been 
committed  in  the  classroom,  when,  of  a  sudden,  a 
pane  of  glass  was  shattered,  and  a  half  a  brick 
landed  within  six  inches  of  Willy's  desk. 
14(3 


"Aha!  Now  I  've  got  you,  Willy!"  shouted 
the  teacher.  In  his  desperation  he  was  deter- 
mined, somehow,  to  connect  his  young  tormentor 
with  the  first  act  of  disorder  that  occurred. 

"Well,  the  brick  nearly  got  me,  sure,"  said 
Willy,  who,  oddly  enough,  had  not  been  con- 
cerned in  this  apparent  attack  upon  his  life 
and  happiness,  as  he  glanced  apprehensively 
at  the  window. 

"  Come  here,  sir,  and  receive  the  punish- 
ment for  your  outrageous  conduct ! "  ex- 
claimed the  teacher.  He  was  in  for  it  now, 
and  could  not  retreat. 

"  Outrageous  nothing !  "  responded  Willy ; 
"  what  do  you  want  to  punish  me  for  ?  " 

"  For    breaking    that    window ! "    cried    the 
teacher,  fighting  for  time. 
"  How   could  I   'a'  broken 
the  window  ?     Here  's  the 
brick  that  did  it ! " 

"Yes,  there  's  half 
the    brick    that    did    it," 
the   teacher  declared  — 
feeling   wildly  about   for 
any  excuse  to  fasten  the 
crime     on     his     selected 
victim;    "the    half    that 
you  dropped  on  the  floor 
when  you  threw  the  other 
half   through    the    glass. 
Come  here,  sir!" 
The  audacity  of  this  suggestion 
positively  baffled  Willy.      For  an  instant  he  could 
think   of  nothing   to   say;    and   that   instant   the 
teacher  did  not  allow  to  go  unimproved. 

ii  J47 


It  is  customary  to  draw  a  veil  at  this  point 
over  the  subsequent  proceedings,  but  it  would  re- 
quire a  large  sized  circus  tent  adequately  to  screen 
the  scene  that  now  ensued.  But  the  teacher  was 
twenty-two  and  Willy  at  this  period  was  only 
eleven,  and  Willy  received  the  first  and  last  lick- 
ing he  ever  got. 

The  next  morning  early,  the  teacher  left  for 
Moribundha. 

Four  years  later  he  came  back. 


The  young  Missionary  had  been  extraordi- 
narily successful.  Many  a  time  had  he  faltered; 
many  a  time  nearly  given  up  trying  to  make  any 
impression  on  the  obdurate  natives.  Then  he 
would  think  of  Willy,  and  the  thought  would  give 
him  new  courage,  new  determination  to  per- 
severe. And  now  he  had  returned  to  raise  funds 
for  the  erection  of  a  church  edifice,  a  parsonage 
and  a  parish  house  on  his  distant  island  for  his 
devoted  flock. 

The  method  that  occurred  to  him  was  to 
give  lectures  on  the  strange  manners  and  customs 
of  the  wild  tribe  among  whom  his  lot  had  been 
cast ;  and  in  pursuance  of  that  idea  he  an- 
nounced:  "An  evening  with  the  Moribundhans," 
at  the  very  school-house  where  he  had  taught 
previous  to  his  departure.  Inquiry  on  his  part 
had  elicited  the  information  that,  since  his  depar- 
ture, Willy  had  never  been  concerned  in  any  act 
of  disorder,  but  had  become  the  model  pupil  in 
deportment  as  he  had  always  been  in  his  studies. 
He  had  even  gone  to  the  principal  and  told  him 
14* 


"V   IJarns  ftom  puck»  'V 

with  tears  in  his  eyes  that  although  he  was  not 
guilty  of  the  offence  for  which  he  had  been  pun- 
ished, he  had  often  so  exasperated  and  annoyed 
his  teacher  that  he  richly  deserved  the  thrashing 
he  had  received. 

The  night  of  the  lecture  came,  and  the 
school-room  was  crowded  to  hear  the  interesting 
narration  of  the  young  Missionary.  What  espe- 
cially caught  the  eyes  of  the  boys  was  the  array 
of  curious  costumes,  implements  and  weapons  that 
adorned  the  platform.  The  young  Missionary 
told  them  the  uses  of  all.  He  even  put  on  some 
of  the  strange  garments  of  the  natives.  Then  he 
said  that  he  could  show  the  audience  the  method 
of  courtship  that  had  prevailed  among  the  isl- 
anders previous  to  their  conversion,  if  some  gen- 
tleman would  kindly  volunteer  to  step  upon  the 
platform.  No  Moribundhan  maiden,  he  explained, 
could  marry  unless  she  had  two  suitors.  At  a 
given  time,  usually  the  full  of  the  moon,  these 
suitors  would  fight  a  duel.  The  successful  duelist 
would  marry  his  lady-love  and  all  the  sisters 
of  his  opponent,  who,  poor  fellow,  was  always 
served  hot  to  grace  the  wedding  festivities.  If 
some  gentleman  in  the  audience  would  kindly 
volunteer  to  step  upon  the  platform,  he  would  be 
glad  to  show  how  the  lovers  fought  on  such  oc- 
casions. 

For  a  little  while  no  one  made  any  move. 
All  the  men  seemed  overcome  with  that  sense  of 
bashfulness  and  dislike  of  making  bally  idiots  of 
themselves  that  is  common  and  natural  to  self- 
respecting  persons  under  such  circumstances.  And 
it  was  not  until  he  had  made  his  request  for  a 
third  time  that  a  tall,  good  looking  lad  of  about 

'49 


fifteen,  rose  up  from  his  seat  half-way  back  in  the 
hall  and  modestly  went  forward. 

With  a  pleased  smile  the  young  Missionary- 
stepped  to  meet  him.  Something  familiar  in  his 
appearance  caused  the  smile  to  broaden  into  one 
of  half  recognition,  which,  it  must  be  confessed, 
masked  a  slight  feeling  of  uneasiness  as,  on  the 
lad's  closer  approach,  he  realized  that  his  assistant 
was  to  be  his  old  friend  Willy. 

"  Why,  Willy,  this  is  quite  a  surprise !  I  'm 
glad  to  see  you,"  said  the  young  Missionary. 

"  Well,  I  'm  glad  to  see  you,"  replied  Willy, 
with  a  bright  smile,  as  he  walked  up  to  the  col- 
lection of  weapons  and  selected  a  long-handled 
spear  with  a  wicked-looking  three-pointed  head 
that  seemed  like  a  compromise  between  Neptune's 
trident  and  an  eel-fork.  "  Now,  do  you  want  me 
to  be  the  man  who  is  killed,  or  do  you  want  to  be 
killed?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  think  we  need  go  so  far  as 
that,"  said  the  Missionary  with  a  nervous  laugh. 
"  By  the  way,  don't  you  find  that  long  spear  rather 
awkward?  Suppose  you  take  this  short  club,  it 
is  a  very  favorite  weapon  —  oh,  be  careful,  Willy ; 
there  you  see,  you  Ye  caught  one  of  the  prongs  in 
my  collar." 

"  Why,  so  I  have  —  excuse  me,"  said  Willy. 
"  It  is  very  long.  No,  I  don't  believe  I  '11  change 
it  for  the  club;  I  '11  soon  get  the  knack  of  it." 

"  Now,"  said  the  Missionary,  retiring  to  the 
extreme  edge  of  the  platform,  "  the  two  oppo- 
nents usually  approach  from  opposite  sides,  shout- 
ing like  this:  'Wahoo!  wahoo!  hoowa!  hoowa  ! ' 
and  brandishing  their  weapons  —  do  be  careful, 
Willy !  —  yes,  you  Ye  got  the  words  all  right,  but 
150 


"V"    ^arns  from  Puck,   V 

you  scratched  my  ear  that  time  —  the  natives 
.  generally  hold  the  spear  somewhere  about  the 
middle  of  the  handle,  not  at  the  extreme  end. 
The  two  men  then  circle  around  each  other,  still 
uttering  the  same  weird  cry,  and  prodding  their 
weapons  at  each  other.  No,  no,  no !  they  don't 
really  poke  each  other  yet  —  Willy.  Then,  they 
turn  their  backs  on  each  other  and  pretend  to 
run  away  a  few  steps  —  but  one  of  them  sud- 
denly turns  and  pursues  the  other — No,  not  so 
quick,  Willy  ;  eh  —  I  —  ow  !  —  /  was  going  to 
pursue  you,  Willy.  Willy,  he  does  n't  pursue  him 
so  far!  Willy,  you  must  n't  stick  that  into  me  so 
hard!  Willy,  that  hurts — " 

"  So  did  that  —  Wahoo !  wahoo  !  —  licking 
you  —  hoowa !  hoowa !  —  gave  me  four  years 
ago,"  said  Willy,  loud  enough  to  be  heard  by  the 
Missionary,  but  not  by  the  audience,  which  was 
applauding  vigorously  the  life-like  representation 
of  wild  life  at  Moribundha,  as  rendered  by  Willy 
and  the  Missionary. 

"If  I  'd  have — wahoo!  hoowa!  —  had  this 
spear  then,  you  would  n't  have  —  hoowa !  wahoo  ! 
—  clubbed  me  so  easy.  How  do  yon  —  wahoo ! 
like  it  ?  It  seems  to  tickle  the  audience  'most  to 
death  —  hoowa  ! "  said  Willy  as  he  gave  the  Mis- 
sionary an  extra  sharp  dig  in  the  ribs,  as  they 
circled  the  platform  for  the  third  time. 

The  Missionary  was  now  on  the  dead  run, 
his  hair  flying,  his  cheeks  red,  his  breath  coming 
in  quick  gasps,  while,  holding  the  club  behind 
him  with  both  hands,  he  endeavored  by  whirling 
it  round  and  round,  like  a  cow's  tail  in  fly-time, 
to  ward  off  the  sharp  and  painful  stabs  with  which 
Willy  pointed  his  disagreeable  reminiscences. 


f?ariks> 


A  sharp  cut  across  his  knuckles  caused  the 
Missionary  to  drop  his  club,  and,  suddenly  finding 
himself  utterly  defenseless,  he  fell  to  the  ground 
and  rolled  over  and  over  with  the  intention  of 
precipitating  himself  into  the  audience.  But  Willy- 
was  too  quick  for  him ;  and,  planting  one  foot  on 
his  former  teacher's  head,  he  held 
the  three  points  of  the  spear  at 
his  throat  as  he  lay  upon  his 
side,  amid  the  cheers  and 
plaudits  of  the  assemblage, 
as  he  had  seen  pictures  in 
his  Robinson  Crusoe  and 
other  books  of  adven- 
tures in  savage  lands. 

"  Are  we  square  ? : 
asked  Willy. 

"Yes,"  said       m 

the  Missionary. 

"And  if  I 
decide  to  let  you 
up,  you  will  thank 

me  before  all  these  people,  and  tell  them  that  1 
have  given  a  very  accurate  representation  of  a 
magnanimous  Young  Native  whom  you  knew, 
who  spared  his  rival's  life,  and  afterwards  they 
became  very  good  friends?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  Missionary. 

And  he  did  so. 

H.  G.  Paine. 


152 


A    SLAVE    TO     FANCY. 


"'S/te  blushes  prettily  and  thanks 
me  with  downcast  eyes. ' " 


TS4 


A     SLAVE     TO     FANCY. 


was  a  time  when   I  found 
pleasure  in  my  wonderful  imagi- 
nation, but  now  that  I  can  no 
longer  control  it,  I   am  misera- 
ble.     For  some  years,  while  in 
pursuit  of  my  literary  labors  — 
and  incidental  bread  and  butter 
—  I    indulged    my   fancy   to    its 
fullest   extent.      I    would   send    it    forth   into   the 
world   and  allow  it  to  wander  here  and  there  in 
pursuit   of  the   beautiful. 

The  exercise  proved  beneficial  to  its  growth, 
and,  as  time  went  on,  my  imagination  advanced 
in  strength  until  I  was  able  to  call  up  phantoms 
from  the  misty  deep  and  to  have  those  phantoms 
appear  in  answer  to  the  summons. 

As  you  well  know,  phantoms  are  mere  pro- 
ducts of  the  imagination,  and  I  was  well  pleased 
with  that  fancy  of  mine  which  could  produce 
such  wonderful  effects.  I  gave  my  fancy  wider 
scope  —  restraining  it  less  and  less  —  until  my 
imagination  became  an  invisible  power  having 
dominion  over  me.  It  was  a  non-corporate  en- 
tity, so  to  speak :  a  Thing  without  substance. 

One    night,    after     having    retired    at    nine 


*y   fjanlts;    ^ 

o'clock  because  I  had  nothing  better  to  do,  I 
lay  awake  dreaming,  and  the  battle  for  supremacy 
began.  Up  to  that  time  I  had  control  of  my 
exuberant  fancy,  and  so,  that  night,  I  bade  it 
amuse  me.  My  thought  was  bound  by  my  per- 
sonal limitations,  but  my  fancy  was  a  thing  apart 
and  knew  no  confines.  So,  having  called  my 
fancy  as  an  adjunct  to  my  thought,  I  pictured 
myself  in  receipt  of  a  letter  from  a  well-known 
law-firm  announcing  the  fact  that  some  maiden 


lady  in  the  Far  West,  having  received  benefit 
from  my  writings,  had  remembered  me  in  her 
will  and  died,  leaving  me  — 

"  Fifty  thousand  dollars,"  suggested  my  im- 
agination, which,  as  yet  had  not  been  called  upon. 

"  Pooh,"  I  protested;  "it  's  only  in  fun  — 
make  it  a  million." 

But  my  imagination  was  obdurate,  and  after 
a  tussle  we  compromised  on  one  hundred  thousand 
dollars.  I  say  "we,"  because  at  that  time  1  first 


*V    Darns  from  pu<b,  "V 

recognized  the  power  of  my  imagination  —  Ima- 
gination would  be  proper  —  as  apart  from  myself. 

"  Well,"  I  went  on  in  thought,  "  this  old  and 
sweet  lady  left  me  one  hundred  thousand  dollars 
and  a  brown-stone  house  on  the  Avenue." 

At  this  point  Fancy  again  asserted  itself  with 
an  objection.  Finally  I  was  allowed  to  retain  the 
house,  but  obliged  to  place  it  on  one  of  the  side 
streets.  Even  then  I  was  a  man  of  wealth,  and  I 
thought  of  a  trip  to  Europe  —  an  ocean  voyage 
in  June. 

"No;  March,"  put  in  my  Imagination. 

."Now,  look  here,"  1  said;  "who's  doing 
this?  This  trip  has  got  to  take  place  in  June. 
How  can  you  sit  on  the  deck  in  the  moonlight  on 
a  cold  March  night?" 

"What  's  that  for?"  asked  my  Imagination, 
that  was  no  longer  mine  in  the  possessive  sense. 

"  Why ! "  I  exclaimed,  "  there  's  a  girl  on 
board  the  ship." 

"  Oh,  no ;  there  is  n't,"  protested  this  assert- 
ive Fancy. 

"But  I  say  there  is,"  I  replied;  "there  's  a 
girl  on  board  this  ship  to  whom  I  'm  going  to 
make  love." 

"A  short,  stout  girl,"  said  my  Imagination. 
Secretly  I  was  glad  that  the  existence  of  the  girl 
was  conceded  without  further  trouble,  for  I  hated 
to  think  of  making  the  trip  all  alone,  but,  being 
allowed  a  sweet  companion,  I  was  going  to  have 
her  as  I  pleased. 

"A  tall,  slender  girl,"  I  said,  positively ;  "one 
of  those  willowy  creatures,  with  hair  the  color 
of—" 

"A  sunset,"  interrupted  that  irrepressible 
rs? 


fjariks; 


Imagination.     I  laughed  at  the  idea.      "  What !   a 
girl  with  sunset  hair  on  a  moonlight  night?"   1 
retorted.     "No;  this  girl  has  dark  brown  hair." 
"  No  tresses  ?  "  came  the  whisper. 
"No;   hair.      Eyes  dark  and  brown  as  well, 
and  a  complexion — " 

"Also  dark  and  brown,"  was  the  sug- 
gestion next  advanced  by  Imagination. 

But    I    paid   no    attention   to   it  — 
"  A  complexion  like  peaches  and  cream," 
I  thought. 

"Now  put  in  a  rival,"  said  my 
Imagination. 

Again  I  rebelled.    I  wanted  that 
girl  all  to 'myself.     What  was  the  use 
of  having  a  mythical   fortune  and  a 
shadowy   girl   if  you  had   to  destroy 
the  harmony  of  the  dream  by  introduc- 
ing a  rival  ? 

"But  it  would  be  so  much  more  of  a  vic- 
tory," insinuated  my  Imagination,  "if  you  have 
to  fight  against  odds." 

"I  won't  have  a  rival,"  I  said;  "you  would 
make  him  interrupt  me  at  every  turn." 

"Oh,  no!"  protested  Fancy;  "I  would  n't 
be  so  mean  as  all  that.  We  '11  just  have  that  pre- 
tended rival  and  keep  him  in  his  stateroom  the 
entire  voyage." 

I  yielded  —  for  there  was  something  pleasant 
in  the  idea  of  that  miserable  youth  unable  to  cope 
with  Fate  and  Love. 

"  This  girl  and  I  meet  on  the  evening  of  the 
first  day,"  I  thought.  "  She  is  reading  a  book, 
when  suddenly  the  wind  tears  it  from  her  hand 
and  I  catch  it  — " 


^    I)arns  from  Puck.   "V 

"  Better  have  the  wind  take  off  her  hat," 
broke  in  Fancy  at  this  moment;  "she  would  be 
more  grateful  then." 

I  granted  the  point.  "I  catch  the  hat  and 
return  it  to  her.  She  blushes  prettily  and  thanks 
me  with  downcast  eyes.  Suddenly  she  looks  up 
and  remembers  having  met  me  the  Summer  before 
in  the  mountains." 

"  No ; "  protested  Fancy. 

"Yes;"  said  I,  angry  at  the  interruption  to 
my  thought. 

"Wouldn't  do,"  argued  Fancy.  "She  knew 
you  the  Summer  before,  when  you  were  poor? 
No  —  no  —  why  should  she  care  for  you  now? 
If  she  loves  you,  it  will  be  on  account  of  your 
money  ;  make  her  a  stranger." 

There  was  something  in  this  suggestion. 

"Looking  up  at  me,"  ran  my  romance  in 
thought,  "she  asks  my  name  and  is  pleased  when 
I  mention  it,  for  she  is  familiar  with  my  writings." 

"  That  's  too  egotistical,"  asserted  Fancy ; 
"she  never  heard  of  you  before,  and  you  are  hum- 
bled— you  want  to  begin  to  love  in  a  lowly  spirit." 

I  had  to  succumb  to  Fancy's  argument. 
"Well,"  I  thought,  "we  become  good  friends  at 
once  and  henceforth  I  am  her  devoted  cavalier. 
I  read  to  her,  I  talk  to  her,  walk  with  her,  sit  next 
to  her  at  table,  and  grow  to  regard  her  as  the  one 
goal  of  my  life." 

"  Humph,"  said  Fancy ;  "  that  's  going  it 
pretty  strong." 

I  continued  my  dream  regardless  of  the 
interruption: 

"One  night  while  we  are  seated  on  the 
deck  —  " 


"The  rival  appears,"  put  in  Fancy. 

"You  promised  to  keep  him  in  his  state- 
room," I  retorted;  "and  so  he  does  n't  appear." 

"While  seated  on  the  deck  I  suddenly  take 
her  hand  and  say  I  love  her,  and  she"  —  I  went 
on  — "  looks  steadily  at  me  a  moment  and 
whispers — " 

"  No ! "  cried  Fancy,  exultingly. 

"  She  says  'Yes!'  "   I  answered. 

"  She  says  '  No ! '  "  retorted  my  Imagination, 
"because  she  is  engaged  to  the  rival.  For  what 
reason  was  he  introduced,  if  not  to  make  trouble  ? 
Staying  in  his  stateroom  did  n't  interfere  with 
your  romance,  if  there  had  n't  been  some  previous 
understanding;  she  says  'No!'  —  she's  got  to 
say  '  No ! '" 

"  She  has  n't,"   I  said,  sulkily. 

"  Yes,  sir-ee,"  continued  Fancy ;  "  she  says 
'  No ! '  Do  you  expect  to  marry  her  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  I  do,"  was  my  reply;  "why  did 
I  begin  with  the  legacy  ?  " 

"  Dunno,"  replied  my  Fancy,  "  but  you  are 
not  to  marry  —  you  are  not  even  to  be  engaged." 

"  Why  ?  "  was  my  indignant  query. 

"  Because  it  's  altogether  too  serious  a  ques- 
tion," said  my  Imagination;  "and  when  thought 
becomes  serious,  I  am  stagnant.  I  am  set  aside 
to  wilt.  When  you  are  engaged,  I  am  forgotten 
for  the  sake  of  the  girl;  and  when  you  marry, 
Imagination  dies.  The  two  can  not  exist  in 
common  —  I  can  not  permit  it — /  will  not! 
You  can  not  become  engaged  to  my  undoing — 
and  as  to  marriage — "  if  there  had  been  any- 
thing of  it  to  produce  a  sound,  Fancy  would  then 
have  laughed. 

160 


IP    l)arns  from  puck,   V^ 

"  Dream  as  much  as  you  will,"  continued 
my  Imagination,  "  but  I  am  going  to  control 
those  dreams.  Imagination  has  its  limits,  and 
matrimony  is  the  extreme.  I  can  not  permit  it, 
as  I  have  remarked  before.  You  have  a  good, 
well-developed  Imagination,  now,  in  me,  and  I 
desire  to  continue  in  existence.  And  I  am  going 
to !  That  girl  says  '  No  / '  —  do  you  understand  ? 
Spend  your  money  as  you  will  —  indulge  in  all 
possible  flights  —  propose  as  often  as  you  feel  like 
it,  but  I  am  going  to  assert  myself  when  neces- 
sary. Henceforth,  young  man, 
I  am  assertive.  I  rule." 

"  No,  you  don't," 
I     answered ;     "  that 
girl  says  '  Yes ! ' ' 

"  Does  she  ?" 
sneered  Fancy ;  "very 
well  —  I  'm  going  to 
get  out  of  it ;  what 's 
it  all  about,  anyway  ? 

I  had  forgotten  ut- 
terly.  The  dream  had  vanished  with  the  departure 
of  my  Imagination. 

"  Now  go  to  sleep,"  said  Fancy,  coming 
back,  "and  remember  that  I  set  my  own  limits. 
What  did  the  girl  say  ?  " 

"  '  No  ! '  "  I  answered  feebly. 

Flavel  S.   Mines. 


ibi 


GEORGE     BYERS. 


"In  the  thickest  toiled  George  Byers*" 


164 


GEORGE     BYERS. 


FEELING   of  superiority   is   a   feeling 
of    blind,     unquestioning    happiness. 
How  fortunate,  then,  that  for  almost 
all  of  us  kind  Nature,  by  a  tour  de 
force,    provides    objects     to     look 
down  upon ! 

Small,  slow,  forgotten  Elm- 
ville  had  rapture  in  looking  down 
upon  George  Byers.  George  was  an 
out-and-out  loafer.  He  was  the  foil  to 
industry,  the  contrast  to  forehandedness,  the 
shadow  to  ambition.  How  George  got  to  be  as 
complete  a  loafer  as  he  was  it  would  be  hard  and 
perhaps  useless  to  tell.  For  of  what  avail  is  it 
painfully  to  scan  the  footsteps  of  human  prodi- 
gies ?  Suffice  it  to  say  that  when  George  was 
twenty-five  years  old,  when  he  had  loafed  away 
from  home,  and  when,  after  loafing  here  and 
there  oblivious  of  all  else  in  his  absorption  in 
loafing,  he  had  loafed  into  Elmville,  a  stray  and 
a  stranger,  he  was  a  complete  and  perfect  loafer. 
George  was  a  slim,  shambling  fellow,  and  he 
had  acquired  that  suppleness  of  the  loafing-joints 
which  enabled  him  to  loaf  easily  and  pictur- 
esquely in  many  attitudes :  and  this  was  a  good 


V 

thing  for  George,  for  changing  his  position  was 
the  only  rest  he  ever  got.  He  used  to  look  down 
at  the  ground  a  good  deal,  and  to  stand  and  look 
at  the  horizon  a  good  deal,  and  to  He  down  and 
look  up  at  the  sky  a  good  deal.  To  lie  thus  prob- 
ably irked  George,  for  he  must  have 
foreseen  that  some  time  he  would 
have  to  get  up  —  when  night  fell, 
or  when  it  rained;  or,  at  any 
rate,  when  Winter  came  on. 
But  we  all  have  our  trials. 
George  wore  faded  clothes, 
and  country  wits  said  that 
his  hair  and  whiskers  "looked 
like  the  breaking  up  of  a  hard 
Winter."  To  be  made  the  butt  of  a 
Welsh  goat  is  hard ;  to  be  made  the  mark  of  the 
country  wit  is  harder.  The  weapon  of  the  coun- 
try wit  is  like  that  peculiar  pop-gun  which  has 
a  cork  bullet  attached  by  a  string,  and  which, 
though  it  has  but  one  charge,  is  never  out  of  am- 
munition. What  George  thought  of  the  world,  I 
do  not  know. 

One  hot  morning  in  August,  George  was  loaf- 
ing along  the  road  that  ran  out  of  the  village, 
when  old  Granger,  a  slaving,  bow-backed  farmer, 
rattling  along  in  a  farm  wagon,  drew  up  on  him. 
Old  Granger's  first  idea  when  he  saw  George 
ahead  was,  of  course,  to  say  nothing  to  him,  but 
to  push  on  the  lines,  and  to  drive  nobly  by,  like 
a  float  of  Industry  Scorning  Indolence.  But  he 
had  another  idea,  and  he  stopped  his  team. 

"Whoa,  there;  whoa!  Say,  George,  git  in 
and  go  along  with  me.  I  'm  going  to  start  thrash- 
in'  this  mornin',  and  I  'm  kind  o'  short-handed." 


^    parns  from  Puck,   ^ 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  threshing," 
said  George,  desperately. 

"Why,  you  've  allus  lived  in  the  country!" 

"  Yes,"  said  George ;  "  but  threshing  's  a 
thing  —  that  I  —  don't  know  —  that  I  —  ever 
give  much  attention  to.  No.  I  'd  just  bother 
you.  I  Ve  seen  threshing  -  machines  —  different 
times  —  but  I  —  never  give  'em  much  attention." 

It  was  a  hurrying  time.  Granger  could  n't 
wait  for  George  to  decide  to  go  (especially  as, 
if  George  ever  decided  anything,  it  would  be  not 
to  go  alive  under  any  circumstances),  so  Granger 
chanced  a  ruse,  and  said  brightly : 
•  "Well,  git  right  in." 

And  George  put  his  foot  on  the  step,  and 
at  the  same  time  Granger  hit  his  horses  —  and 
there  George  was.  To  avoid  injury,  he  had  to 
finish  getting  into  the  wagon,  where  he  sat  on 
a  pile  of  bags,  held  onto  the  sides  of  the  box  for 
dear  life,  and  was  bounced  and  jounced  and 
bumped  and  thumped  over  the  rough  road  which 
led  to  Granger's  farm. 

Here  a  word  from  me  about  farming  might 
not  be  amiss.  What  I  say  is  always  good.  There 
is  tilling  the  soil,  and  there  is  farming;  the  one 
comes  under  the  head  of  agriculture,  the  other 
under  the  head  of  derniers  resorts.  In  tilling  the 
soil  there  are  the  charming  details  of  "  garnering 
and  threshing  the  golden  grain ; "  in  farming  there 
are  the  details  of  harvesting  and  threshing. 
Threshing  is  tough;  anybody  knows  that  who  has 
ever  threshed  or  been  thrashed.  But  to  return  to 
George,  although  he  had  as  yet  scarcely  returned 
to  himself. 

By  the  time  George  arrived  at  the  moated 


grange,  all  the  other  men  had  chosen  their  phu-es 
about  the  threshing-machine,  and  the  worst  place 
was  left  for  George.  George  did  not  know  the 
difference,  but  it  was  undoubtedly  the  worst  place. 
It  was  right  behind  the  bat. 

Toot,  toot!  The  gifted  agricultural  steam- 
engineer  yanked  the  string;  the  whistle  sounded 
(however)  as  if  controlled  by  some  superior  intelli- 
gence. The  game  was  called. 

And  now  men  threw  sheaves  —  called  bun- 
dles, in  farming  —  into  the  teeth  of  the  cylinder, 
which  roared  and  shrieked.  The  air  became  full 
of  dust  and  lint  and  powder.  Imagine  a  feather- 
factory  in  a  cyclone,  a  dust-cart  in  March,  a 
simoom  in  the  desert,  a  war-cloud  in  Africa.  After 
filling  the  air  with  dust,  the  cylinder  still  roared  at 
horrible  speed,  and  gulping  bundle  after  bundle, 
shook  out  more  dust  —  and  more  dust  —  and 
more  dust,  as  a  wet  dog  shakes  out  water.  But 
the  cylinder  never  pauses,  while  sometimes  the 
dog  must  pause  —  for  he  is  only  human. 

While  the  dust  poured  out,  the  noise  shook 


from 

the  earth.  The  heat  of  Summer  settled  around 
like  a  great  burning  suffocation.  Men's  eyes  and 
noses  were  full  of  green  dust.  Their  whiskers 
looked  like  2  Ibs.  of  tea. 

In  the  thickest  toiled  George  Byers  —  toiled 
George  Byers !  He  was  on  the  straw-stack  at  the 
funnel's  mouth ;  and  if  he  had  not  toiled,  the  straw 
would  have  covered  him.  The  noise  was  so  great 
that  he  could  not  expostulate.  He  could  not 
pause  to  think.  He  could  not  open  his  mouth  to 
breathe. 

For  hours  the  struggle  lasted.  When  the 
gifted  agricultural  steam -engineer  yanked  the 
whistle  for  dinner,  the  cylinder  stopped.  Then 
George  climbed  down  from  the  stack — the  monu- 
ment of  his  unwilling  industry — and  made  a  sneak 
for  home. 

It  was  three  weeks  before  he  recovered  his 
old  tranquil  frame  of  vacuity.  During  that  time 
he  had  nervous  intervals  of  thought,  and  in  these 
he  whittled  out  a  labor-saving  device  for  thresh- 
ing machines.  When  the  period  of  mental,  dis- 
turbance was  past,  he  recalled  his  contrivance 
with  indifference.  Of  course,  the  idea  of  a  patent 
occurred  to  him,  for  he  was  an  American,  but  he 
only  thought  that  sometime  he  would  think  about 
thinking  about  it. 

But  that  the  contrivance  had  been  made 
became  known  to  a  man  in  the  village  named 
Hinchman,  whose  delight  it  w#.s  to  regard  himself 
as  a  speculator.  He  used  to  think  if  he  knew  that 
wool,  say,  was  going  to  take  a  rise  of  a  straight 
ten  cents,  how  he  'd  like  quietly  to  step  in  and 
buy  all  he  could  borrow,  or  beg  money  to  carry. 
He  was  full  of  such  schemes.  But  so  far  he  had 
769 


not  speculated,  except  in  a  speculative  way.  Now, 
recognizing  his  opportunity,  he  agreed  with  George 
—  who  said  nothing  —  to  furnish  money  to  pat- 
ent the  threshing-machine  device  on  condition  of 
receiving  the  first  $200  that  the  patent  earned. 
The  patent  was  obtained,  and  in  due  time  it 
appeared  in  the  patent  reports.  George  was  not 
unduly  moved  at  the  time;  but,  undoubtedly,  he 
intended  to  rejoice  as  soon  as  he  got  around  to  it. 

Now,  when  George  had  his  patent,  he  would, 
had  he  been  active,  have  started  out  to  sell  his  in- 
vention to  the  threshing-machine  men;  and  the 
threshing-machine  men  would  have  seen  no  merit 
in  George's  device;  but,  on  the  contrary,  they 
would  have  said  that  it  was  old  and  worthless, 
and  that,  although  first-rate,  they  had  the  same 
device  themselves;  and  George  might  have  ended 
by  being  discouraged,  and  falling  into  slothful 
ways. 

But  George  had  a  habit  of  never  starting 
out  to  do  anything.  He  simply  continued  to  loaf. 

The  threshing-machine  men,  on  their  part, 
after  allowing  George  a  decent  interval  in  which 
to  come  in  and  surrender,  began  to  write  to 
George  A.  Byers.  George  continued  to  loaf. 
The  men  wrote  more.  George  loafed  more. 

On  a  day,  Mr.  Keen  of  the  Ajax  Thresher 
Co.  came  to  Elmville.  He  asked  Mr.  Davis  of 
the  Eagle  House  if  there  was  n't  a  Mr.  Byers 
living  in  Elmville. 

"No,"  said  Davis;  but  added :  -What!  you 
mean  Georgebyers  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Keen. 

"  Yes*'  said  Davis,  aghast. 

"  Where  can  I  find  him  ?  "  asked  Keen. 
170 


^    IJarns  from  Puck.   ^T 

"  There,"  said  Davis,  pointing  out  at  the 
porch;  for  it  happened  that  at  that  moment 
George  sat  on  the  lower  step,  resting. 

Keen  went  out,  leaving  Davis  wondering 
that  anyone  should  ask  for  Georgebyers. 


"Is  this  Mr.  Byers^or  Myers?"  began 
Keen,  craftily. 

"  Yes,"  said  George. .  He  was  not  particular 
about  the  name,  but  he  hoped  that  this  stranger 
would  not  take  the  liberty  of  proposing  a  job  of 
work  to  him. 

"  I  have  written  you  about  a  little  device  of 
yours,  and,  being  in  Elmville,  it  occurred  to  me 
that  this  was  your  address.  I  don't  know  whether 
you  answered  my  letter  or  not  —  as  I  have  been 
away  —  " 

"  No,"  said  George,  after  a  long  pause. 

Keen  was  somewhat  discouraged  by  the  care- 
less tone ;  but  he  began  to  talk  of  the  patent,  and, 


warming  into  the  accustomed  work  of  robbing 
patentees,  he  was  soon  speaking  so  lightly  and 
even  depreciatingly  of  George's  patent,  that  any 
other  man  than  George  would  have  made  an 
immediate  apology  for  the  affront  of  offering  the 
patent  to  a  superior  world.  Probably  George, 
who  was  not  a  bad  fellow,  felt  the  obligation  of 
making  an  apology,  and  if  given  time  he  would 
have  make  it;  but,  of  course,  he  could  n't  get 
around  to  it  in  a  minute.  While  he  was  grinding 
his  heel  in  the  sand  at  the  foot  of  the  step,  Keen 
asked  for  a  proposition  for  the  use  of  the  device. 
George  could  answer  this.  He  said  : 

"  It  's  a  thing  —  that  —  I  don't  know  —  as 
I  Ve  thought  much  about." 

Then,  much  relieved,  George  took  a  well- 
earned  rest. 

Mr.  Keen  considered  that  he  had  received 
two  buffets;  but,  determined  to  do  his  whole  duty 
and  exhaust  every  resource  for  properly  robbing 
George,  he  said : 

"This  device  might  be  worth  trying,  and  I 
might  undertake  to  introduce  it;  of  course,  get- 
ting the  use  of  it  myself  free,  and  getting  half  the 
royalty  from  other  makers." 

George  took  no  responsibility  about  this,  but 
ground  his  heel  in  the  sand,  so  that  Keen  was 
staggered ;  but  he  rallied  enough  to  say : 

"  Of  course,  I  am  offering  you  a  splendid 
thing,  but  I  always  believe  in  giving  patentees 
every  cent  there  is  in  it." 

George  changed  his  position  with  ease,  and 
looked  at  the  horizon.  Keen's  heart  sank  at  sight 
of  so  obdurate  a  trader,  and,  resuming  the  talk,  he 
offered  to  be  content  with  but  one-quarter  of  out- 


^    tyarns  from  Puck,   ^ 

side  royalties  —  and  then,  with  no  outside  royalty. 
But  while  Keen  talked,  George  loafed  unvexedly. 
and  he  kept  loafing  until  Keen  found  himself 
forced  (as  he  thought)  to  offer  to  pay  a  royalty 
from  his  own  works. 

"  Now,  when  I  say  a  royalty  from  our  own 
works,  the  question  is,  how  much.  Of  course,  it 
would  be  only  nominal  (George  yawned) ;  well, 
say  $i.  This  is  very  high  — "  Keen  talked  of 
the  extravagance  of  this  figure  till  George  crossed 
his  legs,  when  he  said  he  might  make  it  $2.  He 
reproached  himself  for  offering  this  price;  but 
George  leaned  on  his  elbow,  and  Keen  made 

it   $3- 

At  one  o'clock  George,  who  had  to  ring  the 
church-bell  for  school,  rose  and  started  off. 

"  You  will  be  back  ?  "  said  Keen. 

"  I  will  be  around  somewhere,"  replied 
George. 

In  the  afternoon  Mr.  Keen  had  difficulty  in 
rounding  George  up,  for  George  desired  to  repose; 
but  he  rounded  him  up,  and,  starting  in  afresh,  bid 
himself  up  very  handsomely.  George  had  hardly 
had  such  a  disturbing  day  since  the  threshing, 
and  he  was  forced  to  loaf  in  self-defense.  His  old 
skill  did  not  now  desert  him,  and  he  loafed  as  if 
he  had  been  condemned  to  live  for  life.  Keen 
tried  to  protect  himself  against  George's  evidently 
extravagant  notions  by  threatening  to  use  the 
invention  of  a  gifted  inventor  named  Morrison. 
George  did  not  seem  to  mind  it.  Keen  bid  him- 
self up  again,  but  said  that  George's  invention  was 
crude  and  would  have  to  be  changed  at  great  ex- 
pense by  practical  men.  George  was  not  affected. 
Then  Keen  surrendered.  He  mounted  to  his 

'73 


highest  figure,  $10.  Even  then  George  was 
silent,  and  Keen  said  in  despair,  "Well,  what  do 
you  say  ?  " 

"  There  's  a  man  named  Hinchman  here 
that  's  got  to  have  $200,"  said  George. 

"Well,  of  course  you  will  pay  that?" 

"  I  ?"     George  fell  to  loafing  again. 

Keen  yielded  the  point,  and  said  he  would. 
At  this  George  showed  some  faint  surprise. 

"  Can't  we  settle  this  to-night?"  asked  Keen, 
anxiously.  "  I  want  —  to  get  away."  Thereupon 
Keen  drew  papers.  It  just  happened  that  he  had 


a   form    of  contract   with    him.      He   put   up   the 
$200  for  Hinchman. 

The  next   day   George   gave   Hinchman  his 
money. 

"How   much   do   you    get?"  asked   Hinch- 
man, delighted  with  speculation. 
174 


^    t)arns  from  Puck,   ^ 

"  Ten  dollars,"  said  George.  George  was 
glad  enough,  but  he  did  not  show  it  much. 

-  \Vhy,  you  blamed  idiot,"  said  Hinchman, 
after  reading  the  contract,  "  you  get  ten  dollars 
(7  machine  !  " 

"  Is  that  so  ? "  said  George.  George  felt 
mortified.  He  could  feel  the  mortification  even 
then.  "  Well,"  he  said  in  explanation,  "  that  was 
something  I  did  n't  give  —  much  attention  to." 

George  is  now  rich ;  and  this  story  shows 
how  a  man's  being  perfectly  worthless  may  be 
worth  a  good  deal  to  him;  and  it  ought  to  en- 
courage us. 

CONCLUSION. 

Abe  Granger  still  lives  on  the  old  farm. 
Hinchman's  wife  is  still  living,  and  Hinchman 
has  never  married  again.  The  paths  that  led 
from  the  old  manse  ran  only  as  far  as  the  road. 

Willis  ton  fish. 


THE    NEW   JERSEY    ARABIAN    NIGHTS. 

By  R.  K.  MUNKITTRICK. 

This  is  the  latest  volume  of  the  new 
series  of  short  stories  which  PUCK  makes 
distinctively  its  own,  and  does  it  so  well  that 
every  one  wonders  what  is  coming  next. 
The  relator  of  the  stories  in  this  book  is  not 
a  charming  young  woman,  but  a  tramp 
plumber  who  has  reached  the  depths  of  im- 
pecuniosity  by  being  conscientious,  and  the 
scene  of  the  story  is  the  home  of  a  mil- 
lionaire dyspeptic  in  the  State  of  New 
Jersey.  The  man  of  money  needs  to  be 
amused,  and  the  plumber  can  tell  stories  as 
long  as  he  is  sure  of  three  square  meals  a 
day,  so  the  arrangement  goes  on  for  a  dozen 
nights,  and  the  millionaire's  charming  daugh- 
ter sits  by  to  listen,  with  the  usual  result  to 
both  man  and  maiden.  The  stories  are 
serious  and  improbable  —  a  combination 
which  makes  them  quite  funny,  and  they 
are  liberally  besprinkled  with  pictures  by 

PUCK'S  best  artists.  —Godefs  Magazine. 

In  Boards,  $1.00.         In  Paper,  jc  Cents. 

All  Booksellers. 
By  Mail,  front  the  Publishers,  on  receipt  of  price. 


HALF-TRUE  TALES. 

"  Half- True  Tales  ;  Stories  Founded 
on  Fiction,"  by  C.  H.  Augur,  forms  a  new 
volume  in  PUCK'S  series  of  short  stories. 
The  stories  are  very  lively,  and  all  the 
more  effective  because  they  leave  some- 
thing to  the  imagination  of  the  reader. 
They  are  short,  which  is  another  thing 
in  their  favor ;  and  they  are  cleverly  illus- 
trated by  C.  J.  Taylor.  The  volume  is 

charmingly    printed. The  (London)  Daily  Chronicle. 


In  Cloth,  $1,00.  In  Paper,  50  Cents. 

All  Booksellers. 
By  .I/?//,  from  the  Publishers,  on  receipt  of  price. 


One  of  the  special  weekly  attractions 
of  our  humorous  contemporary  PUCK,  is  a 
short  story  which  does  n't  much  resemble 
short  stories  published  elsewhere. 

"  MAVERICKS  " 

they  have  been  called  of  late,  and  "  Maver- 
icks "  is  the  title  of  a  pretty  volume  just 
published,  containing  about  twenty  of  them 
by  as  many  writers.  Among  the  contribu- 
tors are  W.  J.  Henderson,  Brander  Mat- 
thews, Madeline  Bridges,  George  H.  Jessop, 
Tudor  Jenks,  Flavel  S.  Mines,  R.  K.  Mun- 
kittrick,  and  PUCK'S  editor,  Mr.  Bunner, 
whose  "  Short  Sixes "  formed  the  initial 
volume  of  the  series  of  which  "  Mavericks  " 
is  the  latest  issue.  To  any  one  in  search 
of  something  which  will  make  him  laugh 
this  little  book  may  be  safely  commended. 
The  pictures,  of  which  there  are  many,  are 
quite  as  funny  as  the  tales,  and  are  all  by 
PUCK'S  artists.  -  At  x /Arott 

In  Boards,  $1.00.        In  Paper,  jo  Cents. 

All  Booksellers. 
By  Mail,  from  the  Publishers,  on  receipt  of  pi  ice. 


"THE   RUNAWAY    BROWNS," 

by  H.  C.  Bunner,  illustrations  by  C.  J.  Tay- 
lor ;  publishers,  Keppler  &  Schwarzmann. 
The  experiences  of  Paul  Brown  and  his  wife, 
who  escape  a  tame,  adventureless  life,  with  a 
view  of  having  "  things  happen  to  them," 
and  to  this  end  leave  a  pleasant  home  to  be 
gone  a  year  and  a  day,  are  just  the  reading 
for  a  Summer's  afternoon,  and  there  is  still 
enough  of  Summer  in  the  air  to  make  it  en- 
joyable to  its  fullest.  How  the  Browns  fell 
in  with  a  band  of  barn-storming  profession- 
als ;  how  they  became  tin  peddlers ;  how 
they  took  charge  of  a  lone  hotel,  and  how 
they  finally  and  gladly  reached  their  trim 
cottage,  is  told  in  these  clever  and  amusing 
pages,  and  will  bring  more  than  one  hearty 
laugh  even  from  those  unused  to  smile. 

—  N.,  P.  6*  S.  Bulletin. 


In  Boards,  $1.00.          In  Paper,  jo  Cents. 

All  Booksellers. 
By  Mail,  from  the  Publishers,  on  receipt  of  price. 


Nobody  can   afford   to   miss  the  short  stories  H.  C. 
Bunner  is  writing  in  PUCK.     The  series  is  called 

"SHORT    SIXES," 

in  allusion  to  the  candles  which  are  sold  six  to  a  pound, 
I  believe.  Two  stories  have  appeared,  "Col.  Brereton's 
Aunty"  and  "The  Love-Letters  of  Smith."  Both  of 
them  are  full  of  delicate  humor,  and  the  illustrations  by 
Mr.  Taylor  are  conceived  and  drawn  in  thorough  sym- 
pathy with  the  text.  "  The  Love  Letters  of  Smith"  in 
PUCK  No.  698  ought  to  please  you  almost  as  much  as 
if  they  were  your  own.  Mr.  Bunner's  stories  always 
have  had  much  to  recommend  them  ;  but  these  trifles  in 
size  are  treasures  in  literary  art.  Because  they  are  true 
to  nature,  and  to  what  is  most  pleasant  in  human  nature, 
they  will  delight  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  readers. 
—Pittsburgh  Dispatch. 


The  beauty  of  James  L.  Ford's 

"HYPNOTIC   TALES" 

is  that  they  are  intensely  full  of  modern  New  York. 
Those  who  read  them  simply  because  they  suspect  that 
they  are  humorous  will  find  to  their  surprise  a  lot  of 
admirable  satire.  It  is  hard  to  imagine  a  better  presen- 
tation of  certain  blemishes  on  the  police  department 
than  "The  Detective's  Tale."  In  "The  Genial's  Tale," 
he  has  for  the  first  time  classified  a  type  and  given  it  a 
name ;  so  that  now  when  you  speak  of  a  Genial,  every- 
body knows  what  you  mean.  Among  the  other  sketches 
the  best  are  "The  Rich  Presbyterian's  Tale,"  and  "At 
the  Chromo  Reception  "  —  the  latter  a  perfect  picture 
of  the  sort  of  thing  that  the  "New  York  Correspondent" 
of  the  Bttngtotvn  Bugle  revels  in.  —  Life. 


In  Boards,  $1.00.     In  Paper,  jo  Cents. 

All  Booksellers. 
By  Mail,  from  the  Publishers,  on   receipt  of  price. 


PUCK'S  LIBRARY. 


32  Pages.      Issued  on  the  15th  of  each  Month. 


The  following  numbers  of  PUCK'S  LIBRARY 
have  appeared  ;  they  can  aliuays  be  obtained 
from  Newsdealers  or  from  the  Publishers  : 

No. 
1. — "  Ttie  National  Game."     Iking  PUCK'S  Best  Things 

About  Base-Ball. 
'*.  —  "The     Summer-  Boarder."      Being    PUCK'S    Best 

Things  About  That  Afflicted  Creature. 

3.  — "Just  Dog."     Being  PUCK'S   Best  Things  About  That 

Amoosin'  Animile. 

4.  —  "Hayseed   Hits."     Being  PUCK'S  Best  Things  About 

the  Merry  Rustic  and  His  Ways. 

5.  — "The    Funny    Baby."    Being   PUCK'S   Best  Things 

About  Our  Household  Angels. 

6.  — "Sassiety."     Being    PUCK'S    Best   Things   About   The 

World  of  Fashion  and  Frivolity. 

7.  —  "Our  Foreign  Fellow-Citizens.7'     Being  PUCK'S 

Best  Things  About  Americans  of  All  Nationalities. 

8.  —  "  Tile  Great  American  Boarding-House."    Be- 

ing PUCK'S  Best  Things  About  That  Abode  of  Happiness. 

9.  — "  Freddy's    Slate."     Being   His   Own  Record  of  His 

Doings  and  Sayings. 

10.  —  "Tramp,    Tramp,    Tramp."     Being  PUCK'S   Best 

Things  About  The  Great  American  Traveler. 

11.  —  "Shop."     Being   PUCK'S   Best  Things  About  The  Busy 

World  of  Trade. 

13. —  "Suburban."     Being  PUCK'S  Best  Things  About  The 
Country  of  the  Commuter. 


No. 

13.  — "Help."     Being  PUCK'S  Best  Things  About  The  Great 

American  Servant  Girl. 

14.  —  "  Brudder  Shinbones."     Being  PUCK'S  Best  Things 

About  Our  Colored  Sassiety. 

15.  _"  City  Sketches."    Being  PUCK'S  Best  Things  About 

The  Merry  Metropolis. 
16. —"The  Small  Boy."  Being  PUCK'S  Best  Things  About 

The  Ubiquitous  Younger  Brother. 
IT.  —  "Is    Marriage   a   Failure  I "     Being  PUCK'S  Best 

Things  About  Mothers-in-law  and   Other   Matrimonial 

Matters. 

18.  — "Out  West."    Being  PUCK'S   Best  Things  About  The 

Wild  and  Wooly  Wilderness. 

19.  — "  Chin."     Being    PUCK'S    Best  Things   About    Barbers, 

Book-agents  and  other  Bores. 

ao.  — "  Hi'  Art."  Being  PUCK'S  Best  Things  About  The  Ec- 
centric and  Interesting  Children  of  Genius, 

81.  — "Very  Young  Man."  Being  PUCK'S  Best  Things 
About  lhat  Fresh  and  Frolicsome  Citizen. 

aa.  — "Show  Business."  Being  PUCK'S  Best  Things  About 
Artistes  and  Fakirs. 

a3.  — "Best  Girl."  Being  PUCK'S  Best  Things  About  Other 
Fellows'  Sisters. 

a*.  —  "  On  The  Road."  Being  PUCK'S  Best  Things  About 
Travelers,  Tourists,  and  Their  Tribulations. 

85.— "Out  Doors."  Being  PUCK'S  Best  Things  About  Sum- 
mer Sports. 

26.—  "Fly-Time."  Being  PUCK'S  Best  Things  About  The 
Torrid  Term. 

a?.— "All  at  Sea."  Being  PUCK'S  Best  Things  About 
Fresh-Water  Fairies  and  Sad  Sea-Dogs. 

38.  —  "  Snap-Shots."  Being  PUCK'S  Best  Things  About  Any 
Thing  and  Everything. 

a9.  — "'Round  Town."  Being  PUCK'S  Best  Things  About 
Those  Who  Go  Up  and  Down  in  the  Great  Big  Town. 

30.  —  "  Fun  at  Zero."     Being   PUCK'S  Best  Things   About 

Winter  Sports. 

31.  —  "Household   Happenings."      Being  PUCK'S   Best 

Things  About  the  Fun  and  Fancy  of  Home  Life. 
32. —  "  Job  Lots."   Being  PUCK'S  Best  Things  About  Business 

Busts  and  Booms. 
33. —  "  Freaks."     Being  PUCK'S  Best  Things  About  Fantastic 

Folks  and  Fads. 


MOV  27  1985 


No. 

34.  —  "Ups  and  Downs.  '   Being  PUCK'S  Best  Things  About 

Life,  Luck  and  Lucre. 

35.  —  "  Profesh."    Being  PUCK'S  Best  Things  About  Intellec- 

tual Individuals  and  Their  Idiosyncrasies. 

36.  —  "Darktown   Doings."    Being  PUCK'S  Best  Things 

About  Afro(and  other)-Americans. 

37.  —  "  Kids."     Being  PUCK'S  Best  Things  About  The  Junior 

Generation. 

38.  —  "Bunco."     Being   PUCK'S   Best  Things  About  Crooks 

and  Uprights. 

39.  —  "  Human  NaturV    Being  PUCK'S  Best  Things  About 

That  Curious  Customer,  Man. 

40.  —  "  Dumb  Critters."     Being  PUCK'S  Best  Things  About 

The  Humorous  Side  of  Animal  Life. 

41.  —  "Just   lianded."     Being  PUCK'S   Best  Things  About 

Folks  from  Faraway. 
4J4.  —  "Chow   CHow."     Being   PUCK'S   Best  Things   About 

This  and  That. 
43.  — "Cold  Days."   Being  PUCK'S  Best  Things  About  Chilly 

Chunks  of  Frosty  Fate. 
44. —  "Dollars  and  Cents."     Being  PUCK'S  Best  Things 

About  The  Scramble  for  Scads. 

45.  — "All  in  the  Family."     Being  PUCK'S  Best  Things 

About  Our  Happy  Households. 

46.  — "Togs."     Being  PUCK'S  Best  Things  About  Rags,  Tags 

and  Velvet  Gowns. 

47.  — "Here    and    There."    Being   PUCK'S    Best    Things 

About  Happenings  in  Both  Places. 

48.  — "Across   the   Ranch."     Being   PUCK'S   Best  Things 

About  The  World  on  Wheels. 

49.— "Fads  and  Fancies."     Being  PUCK'S  Best  Things 
About  Various  Vanities. 

50.  —  "Spoons."      Being  PUCK'S  Best   Things   About  Moony 

Mortals. 

51.  —  "Whiskers."     Being   FUCK'S   Best  Things  About  Our 

Country  Cousins. 

5)4.  — "  Fresh."      Being  PUCK'S  Best  Things  About  the  Un- 
salted  Generation. 

53.  —  "Tips."     Being  PUCK'S  Best  Things  About  Some  Mighty 

Interesting  Matters. 

54.  —  "Emeralds."     Being  PUCK'S  Best  Things  About  Sons 

of  the  Ould  Sod. 

55.  — "Young  Uns."     Being  PUCK'S  Best  Things  About  The 

Kid  in  Various  Stages  of  Development. 

56.  —  "Patchwork."    Being  PUCK'S  Best  Things  About  One 

Thing  and  Another. 

57.  — "Cranks."     Being  PUCK'S  Best  Things  About  Peculiar 

People. 


A    000  571 


